


shard by shard

by myheadisapumpkin



Series: glass heart [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Humor, M/M, Multi, Threats of Violence, a bunch of heroes adopt the antichrist, pretty much, thats honestly the best way i could summarise this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myheadisapumpkin/pseuds/myheadisapumpkin
Summary: The greatest powers always lay hidden, out of sight, out of mind. What happens if a group of Thedas renowned heroes try to protect that power, knowing it could be the destruction of the very world they saved?And what happens if that power is contained within a child?(Can be read independently from Glass Heart.)





	1. Children Will Be Heard As Much As They Are Seen

“Excuse me! Messere!” A knock on the door awakens Hawke from his sleep. He wearily opens his eyes, looking around a little, before falling back asleep. The knocking continues. Hawke groans.

“Just answer it already,” Fenris mutters from beneath the covers, not opening his eyes. 

Hawke curls around him. “I don’t want tooooo,” he slides his head under Fenris’ arm, who reluctantly allows it. “I’m so cosy and warm right now.”

“Messere, please, it’s urgent!” 

“Ugh.” Hawke huffs, throwing the bed covers back. Fenris groans at the sudden coldness, before confiscating all blankets and continues to wrap himself in the world’s tightest burrito. Hawke gets to his feet and wanders over to the door, opening it with a scowl. “What do you want?”

The caller is a short human man, with wide eyes and a face so white he looks ready to pass out at any moment. “M-Messere, I have - I have brought you important news -“

“Yes, yes, get on with it,” Hawke yawns, stretching his arms. The other man looks away, uncomfortable. “What? What’s the issue?”

“You’re naked, messere,” The other replies, pale face turning pink.

“Oh right,” Hawke says, looking down. He grabs a nearby book and holds it in front of his genitals. “Is that good enough? Will you get on with it now?”

“O-Of course, Messere,” the man says, before pulling out a letter from his pocket. “It was required that I delivered it urgently, to your direct location, as soon as physically possible.” 

“All this for a letter? You could have just slid it under my door. And how did you find me, anyway? I’ve been using fake names wherever I stay,” Hawke grumbles as he opens the letter. 

“Forgive me, Messere, but I have been tracking you for several weeks. My delivery is complete, now I must return. Farewell, Champion.” He leaves before Hawke can say another word. Hawke rolls his eyes and closes the door. 

“Bloody typical. No matter what I do, someone is following me. Can you believe that?”

“Funnily enough I can. Since I was tracked down by Daranius’ goons for several years, if you recall.”

“Yeah yeah, smart ass. You reckon you could let me back into that bed?”

“Nope. This bed is now a ‘No Hawkes Allowed’ zone.”

“Aw come on, I’m cold as balls out here. Literally, my balls are freezing. Feel them.”

“I’ll let you back in but I’m not warming your balls, Hawke.”

“Spoilsport.” Hawke jumps back into the bed, disrupting Fenris. He begrudgingly releases some of the covers, letting Hawke slide in next to him. He opens up the letter to finally inspect it.

 

_Champion of Kirkwall,_

_I’m certain by now you are probably ready to give up your life of heroism, after the traumatic events of the Kirkwall uprising, Meredith’s downfall and then entering the physical fade to assist the Inquisitor. To be honest, I am surprised to hear you got out of that alive. It’s unfortunate that not everyone did. Stroud was a good man._

_If there is any possibility that you may not be ready to give this life up, then I ask of you to join me and Inquisitor Lavellan in a special meeting in the Korcari Wilds, Ferelden to learn of this new venture._

_If you desire, you may bring any trusted associates required._

_We meet in 7 days at nightfall._

_I hope you will be there._

_-Kallian Tabris, Hero of Ferelden_

 

“Bloody hell,” Hawke sighs. “More hero work.”

“No,” Fenris says without looking up. “You are not doing it. You’re on a break. Indefinitely.”

“But Fenris,” Hawke pleads. “It’s the _Hero of Ferelden_.”

“And?”

“ _And_ The Inquisitor! It’s like a secret meeting with just us three. I should at least hear out what it is, what if it’s the end of the world again?”

“It’s always going to be end of the world with people who want your help. We’ve talked about this, Hawke.”

“It says I can bring you too!” 

“Oh, does it now.”

“Look,” Hawke says, tossing the letter aside and wrapping an arm around the elf, pulling him in close. “I know what I said, and I know we were going to - you know, _settle down_ \- but this could be important. Not gonna lie, it sounds fucking badass.”

“So that’s why you want to do it.” Fenris rubs the sleep from his eyes. “What about starting a family? I thought you were quite adamant on that.”

“And I am,” Hawke says, chewing his lip. “But there’s never gonna be right or wrong time to start. We may as well start after this cheeky little adventure. And who knows? It might be delivering mabari shit to Empress Celene again. It’s not all traumatising!”

“No, not _all_ ,” Fenris partially agrees. “Just the majority of it.” 

“Look, it says ‘bring any trusted associates required’ that means you! I could see if any of the old gang fancies coming along… Pretty short notice though,” Hawke hums. “I don’t even know how to contact Isabela. How do you write letters to the sea?”

“Who do you intend to invite along on this trip?” Fenris inquires suspiciously. Hawke bites his lip.

“Merrill, if she’s free,” Hawke admits. Fenris grumbles under his breath. “Hey now! Merrill is my friend and has a very in-depth knowledge of elvhen history. She’s a good mage too-“

“A **blood** mage-“

“Yes, a blood mage -“

“Who murdered her entire clan over a mirror.”

“We all make mistakes.” Fenris begins to protest, but Hawke stops him. “I’ve made mistakes, HUNDREDS of mistakes! My mother died because of my mistakes.”

“That wasn’t your fault-“

“You’ve made mistakes. Not to bring up bad memories, but, Varania?”

Fenris pointedly looks away.

“Right. Well so has Merrill. So has Sebastian, so has Isabela, Varric, Carver -“ He pauses. “You know, I don’t think Aveline’s ever made a mistake.”

“‘Nice night for an evening,’” Fenris reminds, causing Hawke to burst into laughter.

“Ha!” Hawke guffaws. “You’re right, even Aveline has made mistakes. So you shouldn’t judge Merrill for hers.” 

“You left Anders off that list of mistakes.”

“Well he’s dead, so doubt there’s much he can do about it now.”

“Fair enough.” Fenris sighs, wraps an around around Hawke’s chest, and relents. “Fine. We’ll go, if only to shut you up.”

“Awwwww yes!” Hawke fist pumps the air, before grabbing the letter from the floor once more. “Okay, well considering our current location… We should probably get going in about ten minutes.”

“Not happening.”

“Fen _ris_!”

 

+++

 

“Maker, did they have to make us trek all the way to the Korcari Wilds?”

“You wanted to come, Hawke.”

“Yeah, but had I known we’d be walking through a swamp, I might have changed my boots.”

“Woe is you, your shoes are ruined.”

“You’re not even _wearing_ shoes. How’s that mud feeling?”

“Quite pleasant, actually. T’is rather soothing.”

“Ass,” Hawke mutters. “Are we nearly there yet?”

“I imagine so. We’ve been in the wilds for hours.”

“Hawke!” A voice calls out, and the two of them turn to see Leliana waving them over. Relieved at having found their destination, they wander over, thankful for the dryer land beneath their feet. 

“Hawke,” Inquisitor Lavellan greets with a smile and a nod. “Bit late, aren’t you?”

“It’s my specialty,” Hawke grins. “Good to see you again, Erröl. I don’t think you ever met my other half; This is Fenris.” He gestures to the white-haired elf standing beside him, who nods indifferently. “He’s shy around new people,” Hawke teases, receiving an elbow in the gut from said elf.

“Good to meet you,” Fenris says. “I should thank you for getting Hawke out of the fade unscathed. I hear others were less lucky. ’Tis unfortunate.”

The Inquisitor nods, grimly. “It was Stroud’s sacrifice that meant we survived. You have him to thank.”

“No Iron Bull?” Hawke asks. “Thought you lovebirds went everywhere together.”

“We do _not_ ,” Erröl responds with a roll of his eyes, “Stop saying that. He’s busy with The Chargers, and this mission isn’t exactly his… Forte, shall we say. So I brought Cole instead.”

“Cole?” Hawke asks. He almost hadn’t noticed the boy tucked away behind them, watching him from under his hat. 

“There are no spiders in here,” Cole responds. The group watch him curiously. Hawke blinks, confused. “I checked.” Cole adds on, as if that was the clarification his statement required. 

“Glad to hear it,” Hawke answers, falling into an easy smile. Cole continues to watch him a moment longer, and Hawke looks away out of discomfort. “So, you’re here. Cole’s here. _Leliana’s_ here.” Leliana looks up as he mentions her, nodding slightly before looking back at her notes. “Aren’t we missing someone? You know, _The_ someone?”

In an instant, Leliana is a hair’s width away, a knife pressed against his neck. Fenris is just as quick to move, phasing a hand through her, fingers brushing up against her heart. “Release him.” Fenris all but growls, and if Hawke wasn’t so confused right now, he’d be quietly pleased at Fenris’ protectiveness. 

“Leliana!” Erröl scolds, but doesn’t do anything to stop her.

“What do you know?” Leliana hisses, ignoring the reactions of everyone but Hawke. The fingers brushing against her heart do nothing to break her poker face. Hawke can’t help but be impressed. 

“Uh,” Hawke replies, ineloquently. “The Hero of Ferelden?” 

“Oh,” Leliana blinks, removing her knife instantly. Fenris follows, removing his hand and un-phasing as Leliana steps away. “My apologies. If anyone knew anything about this mission prior, it would be life-threatening. I couldn’t risk the chance that anyone else knew about this meeting, or what it contained.”

“Maker’s balls, what the fuck are we here for?” Hawke says, mind reeling through the possibilities. Kidnapping a member of the royal family? Being taken hostage by darkspawn to find out their secrets? Saving the world?

“I can’t tell you anything until Kallian has arrived. The mission could be compromised before we even start it. We have to be as cautious as possible.”

“This can’t be good,” Fenris mutters quietly. 

Hawke snorts. “When is anything mysterious ever good?” 

They hear a short, distinct whistle, and heads turn in the direction to find it. Two elves wander their way, one with short bright auburn hair tied into braids, and strange markings upon her face, with a familiar tanned Antivan that Hawke definitely recognised. Zevran smiles a devilish grin as they make their way over.

“My dear Hawke! It has been such a long time, has it not?” He steps forward, kissing both of Hawke’s cheeks, before gazing upon his companion. “I see Fenris still remains by your side.”

“I have no intention of going anywhere,” Fenris answers coolly. 

Zevran holds up his hands. “Forgive me, I meant nothing by it. I have heard many tales of what happened in Kirkwall, and with the Inquisitor in the Fade no less - I am simply pleased to find that Hawke still has someone on his side.”

“Oh, I’ve got people, don’t you worry.” Hawke bows slightly as the Hero of Ferelden wanders over. “Hero of Ferelden. Good to meet you. I’m Hawke - guessing you already knew that.”

“The blood on your face gave it away, yeah.” The hero replies, a lazy grin in place. 

“Someone once told me that you went through Lothering during the Blight. I must have been busy at the time, because I never saw you.”

“You were busy flirting with me at the Chantry,” Leliana informs him, not looking up from her parchment. 

“I was hoping you’d forgotten that.” Hawke groans. “So, moving _swiftly_ on - what is this mission about?"

“Veren,” Kallian says, stepping out of the way to reveal the small elven girl. The group stare in surprise, with Leliana exempt, at the young child, olive-toned skin and short black messy hair. The most striking feature that caught their attention however, was the bright red vallaslin that covered the child’s face. Erröl stares at the child, concern written all over his face. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something strange about those markings that made him uneasy. Fenris feels his hands shake the longer he stares at the tattoos, and pulls his gaze away. At their mixed expressions of surprise and concern, the child simply glowers in response. “These are the people we’re gonna be travelling with. They’re gonna keep you safe.”

“I don’t need ‘em.” Veren says, glaring at the ginger elf. “I can protect myself!”

“We’re well aware of that,” Kallian says, smiling nervously. “Zevran, can you -“

At her mixture of shrugs and head tilts, Zevran nods, wandering over to the girl. “Veren, shall we play the game we played on the way here?”

At the mention of said game, Veren lights up, grinning. “Oh yes! I hope you brought enough daggers.”

Zevran chuckles. “I came prepared especially. You know the tall scary lady? She brought us all the daggers we could want to play with.” He tilts his head over to Leliana, who is silently writing in the corner. 

At the mention of Leliana, Veren looks over, biting her lip as she furrows her brow, unsure of whether this has made Leliana worthy of liking. She looks back at Zevran, still undecided, and says, “Let’s go play.”

As they watch Zevran wander a little further away with the child at his side, Kallian gathers the others around her. “So. Questions?”

“Many,” Hawke starts.

“The _child_ is the mission?” Erröl asks.

“Yes,” Kallian says. “Listen, this may sound a little strange, but hear me out. I found her not long ago, wandering The Dales by herself. She took me back to her clan, but they were all dead. She tells me Shem came and tried to hurt them, so she hurt them back. The thing is, none of her clan survived, and the shem that had tried to kill them were - many. I’m talking at least twenty of them, coming in from all surroundings. She took them all down by herself.”

“Maker, how the fuck did she do _that_?” Hawke asks, looking impressed.

“How do you think?” Fenris snarks, looking over at the child. The group turn to watch as Zevran flings a dagger far into the sky. The girl punches upward, releasing a sharp ball of energy which smashes the dagger to pieces, raining down around them. “It’s always the same,” he sighs.

“Fenris,” Hawke says, levelling him with a Look. “Two good mages right here. Magic doesn’t equal bad, remember?”

“That does not mean the two don’t often correlate.”

“She’s still just a child,” Kallian interjects. “She can learn to control it, tame it. Both Hawke and the Inquisitor are proof that private education can prove a stable mage. The problem is, with a power as large as hers -“ Her eyes wander once more over to where Zevran throws up three daggers, one after the other, each getting obliterated faster than the last. “- if people were to find out, they could try to control her. Use her. Or, they could try to kill her, which would only up her death count and make her into a greater threat to the world.” She sighs. “We have an opportunity here to do something before it’s too late. With your help, I think we could find her somewhere to settle down, begin her studies, have a stable home away from the world.”

“And who will teach her? Forgive me, Kallian, but you’re no mage yourself, nor Zevran.” The Inquisitor asks.

Kallian bites her lip. “Now that’s the part I’m unsure of. I was hoping we’d find a solution on the way. Or that one of you would have one to hand. Anyone?” At the blank look on everyone’s faces, she resigns herself. “I guess not.”

“Your cause is commendable, Hero, but it blinds you to other options.” Fenris comments. 

“Don’t say what you’re about to say,” Hawke glares at him, having had one two many similar conversations like this in the past.

“Before any more damage can be done, we could -“

“We’re not _murdering_ a child,” Hawke says through gritted teeth. “Put yourself in her shoes. Not that you wear shoes, nor does she - that’s not the point. When you received your markings, your power, would you have wanted to be killed for it?”

“I did, yes. For a long time.” Fenris answers, sternly. “That is why I am suggesting it. She barely knows her own strength yet; you can imagine what damage she could do once she understands it.”

Hawke huffs, looking away. “Fenris, no matter how powerful she is - she’s still a little girl. Whether she understands how powerful she is or not - we owe it to her to give her a chance, and another chance, and another. She’s still learning what’s good and what’s bad. We can’t expect her to grow and change unless she’s alive to do so."

“For Maker’s sake, Hawke -"

“Have you asked the child what she wants?” Erröl interjects. “She didn’t look very happy to be here."

“She isn’t, trust me. But she has nowhere to go, and she knows that. As much as she wants to be a lone wolf, there’s some things you can't do without people around you.” Kallian answers.

“And you think this will be safe? Carrying a walking bomb around Thedas and hoping it won’t blow up over a tantrum? She doesn’t even use a staff; her power could shoot out at any angle.” Erröl says, watching Veren as she laughs gleefully as Zevran throws up more knives for her to destroy. 

Zevran goes to pull another dagger and finds the barrel empty, having just thrown the last of them. “That’s it for now, my little lady,” Zevran says. “We are officially out of daggers.”

“There’s two on your back!”

“Ah yes, but these are _my_ daggers. You wouldn’t want to take those from me, would you?”

“I would,” She replies, gazing at them. 

“Then I would be defenceless. I ask you refrain from it.” Zevran says.  

“Well, alright.” Veren says, pouting a little. She looks out at the large field ahead of them. “No matter. I’ll make my own.” As she raises her small fists up, the tiny shards of metal lift from the ground, meeting together in the middle and moulding into one, enormous dagger. “Throw this, Zevran!” She grins, dropping it in front of him. It lands with a large thud.

“I… Dare say it may be too heavy for me to throw,” Zevran says, attempting to lift it. 

She sighs. “Weakling!” She says, thrusting the giant dagger into the air with her magic once more, holding it in place with one hand. With the other, she reels back, throwing a punch through the air, that smashes the dagger to pieces once more. The shards, even tinier than before, float down, glimmering in the light of the sun. Some might have described it as beautiful. Others would describe it as a terrifying demonstration of power for a 10 year old. 

_“Shards reigning down like ashes, beauty in derelict places. Alone now, no one to look after me. Why won’t wyverns play? They reel back like I’m poison. What’s wrong with me?”_ Cole murmurs, echoing the child’s thoughts.

“You understand now, right Fenris?” Hawke says, turning to him. “We have to help her.”

“No,” Fenris looks away. “We don’t.” 

_“Tried to use my power to bring back the clan, but they had no mind left to use. The Gods must be angry with me. They haven’t spoken to me in weeks.”_

“Spoken?” Erröl says, looking more and more alarmed. He stares at the child a moment longer, brow furrowed. Finally he runs a hand through his hair and nods. “Fine. We’ll accompany you, should Cole be up for it.”

“I want to help,” Cole agrees.

“Well, I’m in too.” Hawke says, not looking at Fenris. 

The bunch of them stare at Fenris, waiting for his decision. “I will come,” he eventually says, giving Hawke whiplash from how quick his head turns. “Someone must be prepared to do what must be done, if needed.”

Hawke makes a noise of contempt, but says nothing further. Leliana lays out a map, filled with annotations and directions. “These are areas you want to avoid. They’re overpopulated, and her discovery could endanger this entire mission. You will want to stick to any side roads you can. There’s also a few places I’ve marked I think would be worth investigating as a potential hideaway.” 

The group muse and muster up a plan, hoping to any Gods above that they will keep this child safe not only from others, but from herself. 

How disappointed they will be. 


	2. Elvhen History 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris argue, plus everyone gets very elfy. Veren Does Not Give A Shit.

The journey gets off to a rocky start.

After waving Leliana off as they depart on their journey, it takes no less than an hour for the first argument to strike.

“Tell your leashed demon to stop talking to me. And about me.” Fenris grumbles to the Inquisitor as they wade through the swamp.

“Your markings sing sorrow songs, seeking their home. It took you both time but you found it, together. They protect you because they want to.”

“Your gibberish means little to me. Direct your coercion tactics somewhere else,” Fenris says. He looks over at Hawke and mutters, “Must they have brought that thing along?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hawke says, looking at the trees.

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “You can’t still be angry at me.”

“Who said I was angry?” Hawke asks, turning to glare at him.

_“Fires burning, another barn gone. Too scared to go home, what if this is it? Too many mistakes and the Templars will come. He steps around the corner, and tells me I can fix it. The ice makes my fingers burn, but the barn is saved. Father’s words ping around my mind: you can fix it.”_

_“_ You can stop now, Cole.” Hawke grumbles.

“What is it saying this time?” Fenris asks, intrigued.

“You can’t just assume -“ Hawke starts, before steeling himself and staring forward. “Never mind.”

“Hawke,” Fenris says, tugging on his sleeve. “There have been many times when you have told me to stop shutting you out. I humbly ask that you do the same.”

Hawke sighs. “She’s just a _kid._ Kids make mistakes, they learn from them. You have to give her the chance to learn.”

“And the demon’s jabberings?”

“This child you’re talking about killing could be any mage kid. It could have been me, it could have been Bethany, it could have been The Inquisitor for Andraste’s sake. You just don’t see that.” He mutters, keeping his volume low.

“You are just one man, Hawke. A powerful man, I’ll grant you that. But your power is nothing compared to hers.” He murmurs, glancing back at the child. She wanders behind the group, walking a feet away from everyone, eyes searching their surroundings. “Even the Inquisitor with their borrowed power would be no match. You cannot deny that there is a cause for concern.”

“I understand that, but that doesn’t mean the answer is _murder._ ” Hawke huffs. “Can we stop talking about this now?”

“Fine.” Fenris answers, looking away. Hawke walks ahead with the others, leaving Fenris behind. Fenris glowers a little at the back of Hawke’s head, irritated.

“I like your Vallaslin.” He hears a young voice say. He looks over to see the child wandering beside him, still at a wary distance. She watches him with bright amber eyes, flittering around to capture every glimpse of his tattoos that she can.

“They aren’t Vallaslin.” Fenris says, for what must be the 305th time in his life. Thankfully, for many people he had shoved his fist into their chest before they could even begin to ask.

“What are they then?”

“Markings made of lyrium.”

“Did you get them from your clan?”

“Listen now child, and listen well.” Fenris starts, glowering at the child. “I am not Dalish, nor was I ever before this point. I have no clan. These were done to me by terrible people. If you wish to bond over the Dalish I suggest talking to the Inquisitor."

“Dalish?”

“Yes,” Fenris says, staring at her. “You are Dalish, are you not?”

She thinks for a moment. “Dalish, Dalish. I heard that word before. They are Harillen?”

Fenris blinks. “I -“ he starts, unsure of how to end his sentence. “I suppose so? I’m not sure what that means.”

“Don’t like ‘em.”

“I’m not overly fond either,” Fenris replies. “May I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Veren replies, grinning as he frowns.

“You were found near a Dalish camp, were you not?”

“Oh, so those were Dalish? I thought they were like me.”

“How are they not?”

“They had sticks. Why is your sword so big?”

“Easier for me to kill things with.”

“But you’re small.”

“I’m not small.”

“Smaller than the shems. Even the vessel has smaller swords than you.”

Fenris glances over to the weapons strapped to Cole’s back. “Those are daggers.”

“Look like swords to me. Pointy, you stick in people. Plus, double swords. You should get an extra. Might be hard to carry though.”

“I’m not getting an extra sword,” Fenris says, growing exasperated. “By sticks, you mean staffs?”

“Made of wood aren’t they? Looks like a stick to me. Why’s your hair white?”

“Okay, I’m ending this conversation. Find someone else to bother.”

“Zevran’s talking to your Shem. There’s no one else.” Fenris’ eyes wander over to where Hawke and Zevran are chatting animatedly, laughing occasionally. Fenris tries to ignore the jealousy that bubbles up inside his chest.

“The Hero, The Inquisitor, the Demon? Any of these options are preferable to me.”

“No. They look at me weird. Makes me feel wrong.”

“They are not without merit.”

“You don’t look at me weird.”

“Do I not? Perhaps I should try then.” Fenris says, glaring at the girl.

She beams back. “You can’t fool me!” She jumps from stone to stone, Fenris slowing his pace ever so slightly to wait for her to catch up. “So, where are we going?”

“We are heading for the mountains. From there, we will travel to the Dales.”

“Are we nearly there?”

“We have been travelling for barely two hours.”

“So we’re close?”

Fenris sighs exasperatedly. “We will stop to camp in a number of hours, I am sure.”

Kallian wanders over to the pair, souring the child’s expression. “Fenris,” Kallian says with a nod. “You getting along with our little charge?”

“Against my desire to,” Fenris answers, making Kallian smile.

“You like talking to Fenris, huh?” Kallian asks Veren.

Veren frowns at her. “More than you, Harellan.”

Kallian’s expression waivers; her smile wobbling a little. Fenris looks back and forth between them in confusion.

“Am I missing something?” He asks.

Kallian waves it off. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Don’t go,” Fenris says, half-pleading, but she’s already at the Inquisitor’s side, chatting away.

 

It’s not long before they eventually reach a place to camp at the base of the mountain. They set to work quickly, putting up their tents, preparing a fire before the night air gets colder and the sun disappears behind the trees. Fenris notices the child as he collects firewood, making quick work of climbing a tree. She does it without fear, hands and feet placed precisely into the right grooves, helping her to scale the tree in seconds. She waves at Fenris once she perches herself on a sturdy branch. He frowns back at her, before heading back to the camp.

He settles down by the fire, now roaring with his additions. Hawke is still ignoring him; something he finds to be unnecessary at this point, considering he’s spent more time talking with the child than to anyone else. The Inquisitor takes a seat beside him, nodding as he sits.  

“Inquisitor,” Fenris nods.

“Erröl will suffice just fine, Fenris.” Erröl smiles, holding out his hand. “You know, we never really got properly introduced. I’ve heard much about you from Hawke, and moreso from Varric. I even skimmed the Tale of the Champion a few times, at Cassandra’s insistence.”

“That blighted book,” Fenris grumbles. “I hope you know Varric well enough by now to know he loves to embellish things.”

“Don’t worry, I was sure to take it all with a grain of salt.” Erröl chuckles. “Regardless, he speaks highly of you.”

“Likewise,” Fenris replies. “Though I am yet to make my own opinion. Hawke told me of your Inquisition; it all sounds very impressive. Had my life gone in another direction, I may have considered joining. But as of now, I am still uncertain as to who you are, Erröl.”

“I’m of clan Lavellan, if that means anything.” At the shake of Fenris’ head, he continues. “I’m a mage. I was supposed to be the First of my clan, but… Let’s just say, things went a little sideways, so they gave me a new job to spy at the Conclave. Well, you know what happened after that. I have this mark on my hand that never stops thrumming, no matter what. It’s very irritating.” He says, holding up his hand. It glows dimly, as if underneath the skin.

“I know what you mean,” Fenris says. Erröl’s eyes glance across his lyrium markings, and he nods.

“I must confess, I have an ulterior motive for talking to you.” The Inquisitor says, voice lowering to a murmur. He glances around the campfire, Hawke speaking to Cole by the tents, Kallian and Zevran crouched over in hushed discussion a few feet away. The child still presumably wandering the trees. “It’s about Veren.”

“What about the child?”

“Have you noticed anything… Strange?”

“Strange like climbing the trees and jumping from branch to branch?” Fenris says, in an almost bored tone, as he watches the child swing amongst the trees. Erröl follows his line of sight, but shakes his head.

“I have heard of many clans that live among the trees. There’s a few little things, though, that stick out to me.”

“Such as?”

“Her Vallaslin,” Erröl says, face looking a little pale. “It - it isn’t one I’ve ever seen before.”

“An elven god you’ve forgotten, perhaps?” Fenris asks. Veren’s grip slips off a branch, and she startles to tumble down. She reaches out for the tree, and suddenly, the tree is bending down, the branch wrapping around her. She grins as it releases her once more upon another branch, continuing her fun dancing among the trees.

“Perhaps,” Erröl says, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “You haven’t noticed anything, then?”

“Well,” Fenris says, thinking back. “She did say something odd.”

“What did she say?”

“She had never heard of Dalish before. She called them something else,” Fenris says, racking his brain for that word. “What was it? Something beginning with H. She said something similar about Kallian.”

“Was it Harellan?” Erröl asks. “Kallian mentioned that to me. It’s because of her markings, I’m sure.”

“Her markings?”

“Kallian’s markings. You must be aware that she isn’t Dalish, yes? Her markings confuse people.”

“I hadn’t thought about it, really. I get tired enough of people asking me about my own markings.”

“Understandable. Kallian’s markings have quite the story behind them. But you said Veren didn’t know what the Dalish were? Was she not staying with a clan before?”

“She was. She called them Harellan, or Harillen, or something.”

Erröl nods slowly to himself, finger twirling around a long platinum lock of hair. “That’s a little unsettling.”

“How so?”

“Harellan means trickster, like Fen’harel. A traitor. That’s what she calls Kallian.” Erröl says. “But Harillen means opposition. The other side.”

“So if the Dalish are the opposition…” Fenris says, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Erröl’s face goes pale. “You know, I might turn in. I have some rather interesting reading material I’d like to take a look at before I sleep. Please keep a wary eye on the child.” He whispers, before bidding goodnight to the group, and heading into his tent.

Full of more questions than answers, Fenris begrudgingly moves from his spot, heading over to Kallian. Hawke and Zevran seem to be attempting to teach Cole Wicked Grace, Kallian watching in amusement.

“Warden-commander, may I speak with you?” Fenris asks. Kallian tilts her head a little at his formalness, but nods all the same.

“Sure thing. Better to leave these goons to it.”

“I resent that comment,” Zevran says, shuffling his cards.

“Don’t gamble away too much of our money, will you?” Kallian says, kissing his head.

“As always mi amor, I will try my best.”

“Good enough,” Kallian says, rolling her eyes. “You can drop the ‘warden-commander’ by the way. ‘Hero of Ferelden’ can go too. Kallian will be just fine.”

“Very well,” Fenris says, sitting beside her.

“What did you wish to ask me?”

Fenris pauses for a moment, wondering on the best way to phrase his words. “I wished to enquire about your markings.”

He expects her to flinch, to frown, to reel back - anything that he might have done when asked about his unfortunate history, fresh reminders of the pain every time he’s asked. But she simply smiles, and lays down on the ground with her arms behind her head. Fenris follows suit, staring up at the stars.

“You must be wondering why the child dislikes me so,” Kallian says. “I don’t blame her. I’ve received many of the same reaction from Dalish.” She takes a moment, finding shapes in the stars, reminded of the stories her mother would tell her on a cool summer’s eve of the gods in the sky. “When I was a girl, we didn’t have much in the alienage. We were treated like scum by any human that wandered in, regardless of what we did. My mother used to tell me stories of the Dalish, of her time spent with them, however briefly. She made them sound… exciting. Free. They didn’t have to answer to any shem, they weren’t put in their place. They knew things about the old elves that no one else did. To me, it all sounded like a dream. After a particularly dreadful day of the shemlen flogging one of our own in front of the Vhenadahl for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his children, I ran away from the city, and into the forest. I told no one but my cousins, Shianni and Soris, and took off, without a single supply to hand.” Kallian chuckles. “I was very foolish back then.”

“Then you found the Dalish, I am guessing?” Fenris asks.

“Indeed I did.” She says, sounding wistful. “However, they did not greet me as I had expected. I had imagined welcomed arms, a place to lay my head, and a community to teach me the ways of the Old. What I received instead was a cold, half-hearted greeting. They considered me a flat-ear, as close to a human as an elf could get. They told me, ‘You want to be like us? You need to look like us.’ At this point, I would have done anything for just a dash of their approval. So I accepted the markings they bestowed upon me, no matter how much pain it caused me, how it seared into my skin, and thought about how it would all be worth it. I’d be safe, I’d be free. I’d become more. When they finished the markings, I was relieved. It was a short-lived relief, however.”

“I don’t suppose the markings gave you mage-like abilities to move through people like a ghost?” Fenris jokes.

Kallian laughs, but it comes out bitter. “Not quite. That might have made it a little better actually, if I’d gotten something out of it other than spite and hatred.”

“What happened?”

“I had looked upon my markings with joy, but the Dalish tittered and laughed. I didn’t understand why until one of them took enough pity on me to explain. They had not carved me with the symbol of any God of theirs, but in fact the symbol of Fen’Harel. A cruel joke played on a child that haunts me to this very day. This is why Veren doesn’t trust me; I am marked as property of the trickster, the one who betrayed the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones. It is why no Dalish trust me.”  

“I see,” Fenris replies. “Well, your desire for freedom was not unwarranted. We are unfortunate enough to be of a race that the world deems unworthy, even by other elves. No matter what, people will always find a reason to hate, or to fear.”

“Even when it’s unwarranted,” Kallian sighs. “Do you know why I started this?”

“You found a elven child, alone, and wanted to help her.”

“Yes,” Kallian replies. “But it was more than that. There is a part of her that… Well, frightens me. It seems foolish to be scared of a ten year old, but you didn’t see the damage the did. I understand your concerns about her, because I’ve witnessed them.” She glances over at the child, nestled amongst the trees opposite, sleeping on a wide branch. “But then I saw her face. She was shaking, staring at her hands. She looked like she was about to cry, but could barely accept her actions enough to do so. She was scared, scared of herself. No matter her strength, she is still a child. She deserves to be protected, and looked after, and taught. When you escaped, wouldn’t you have given anything to find that? Someone safe?”

“I was incapable of trusting anyone for a number of years. I didn’t dare wish to find someone safe, for fear of them taking advantage of me.” Fenris sits up, glancing over at Hawke as he slips into their tent. “Hawke was the first person I ever trusted after Danarius. He never hurt me, never belittled me. He argued with me plenty, but he never made me feel inferior. He helped me learn to read and write, and he gave me time when I needed it.” Fenris murmurs.

“Then you understand.” Kallian replies at a similar volume. “Why Veren needs us.”

Fenris ponders her words for a moment, before getting to his feet. “I think I shall retire for the night. Thank you for this little chat.”

“Anytime, Fenris.” Kallian says. She glances up at the child in the trees. “You think I should try and make her sleep in a tent, or will that cause a forest fire?”

“I’d leave it, if I were you. I doubt she trusts any of us enough to sleep at our sides.”

Kallian nods, and promptly heads off to her and Zevran’s tent. Fenris watches the sleeping girl for a moment longer, before dipping into his own.

Hawke is asleep, or at least pretending to be when he enters. Fenris has noticed the difference after all this time.

“Hawke,” Fenris says, as he begins to pull off his armour.

Hawke doesn’t reply, nor turn over.

“Hawke.” Fenris repeats, giving him a slight nudge. Hawke releases an exaggerated snore. “I know you’re awake.”

“I’m asleep,” Hawke mumbles.

“Obviously,” Fenris deadpans. He struggles to undo one of his buckles, and huffs a little trying to find the right angle. Hawke finally turns over to face him, watching him struggle. Fenris scowls at him. “You could help me, you know.”

“I could,” Hawke replies. “But that’d take the fun out of it.”

“I think you’ll find I can be a lot more fun without clothes on.”

“Well, when you put it that way -“ Hawke shuffles over, undoing the buckle and freeing Fenris from his armour.

“Thank you,” Fenris replies, ridding himself of his undershirt.

“No problem,” Hawke mumbles, before rolling over again.

Fenris sighs. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“Depends on how long you’re going to hold a knife to that child’s throat.”

“There’s no knife, Hawke. Great power is often abused, and you know that as well as I do.” Hawke doesn’t respond, so Fenris lays down beside him, snuggling up against him and wrapping an arm around him. “I am sorry. I do not mean to advocate for the child’s death. I just believe we should be wary of what may come.”

“So you’ll give her a chance?”

“Yes,” Fenris murmurs by Hawke’s ear. “I’ll give her a chance.”

Hawke rolls over to face him and offers a soft smile. He wraps his arm around Fenris in return, and pulls him close. “Thank you, love.” He closes the gap between them, kissing Fenris softly. Fenris holds onto the other tightly, as if to make sure he was still there. Still by his side, through thick and thin, no matter their differences. Hawke was his home, and he understood why anyone would one. His home was warm, bright and inviting, kind and funny, patient and forgiving. He helped when he was asked without wanting in return. Fenris had imagined many times where his life may have lead had Hawke not been in it; dead, most likely, or back under Danarius’ thumb, or somewhere else entirely, spiralling out of his mind into a state of constant paranoia at the thought of being a slave once more.

He was grateful to have found Hawke when he did, and even more so for Hawke’s persistent attempts to befriend him. If he could offer this child even a quarter of what Hawke had given him, he knew what difference it could make. He hoped with all his heart that it would not end as badly as his conscience was telling him it would.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on tumblr at bleakzeke.tumblr.com come yell at me about dragon age  
> alternatively i am on twitter @bleakzeke
> 
> hope yall enjoy! i sure as fuck did
> 
> Note: this is set after the end of Inquisition, but before the beginning of Trespasser.


	3. Heavy As The Weight In Your Stomach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang venture on, and encounter an obstacle. Veren is quick to solve it, but the others aren't so reassured.

  _You are doing well, child. You blend into the light. Do not doubt yourself. Keep following._

Veren lands on the ground with a thud. She groans in pain, grumbling as she opens her eyes. The blue sky stretches out before her, the tree where she had slept looming above. A face appears above her, blonde hair cascading down. He smirks, and holds out his hand. “That was quite a fall,” Zevran says, without an ounce of sympathy. “Perhaps it may be time to retire the tree bed?”

Veren frowns at him as she takes his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. She wobbles a little, still half-asleep, before righting herself. With her hands on her hips, she declares, “No! The tree just decided to wake me up. I didn’t fall!” 

“You certainly look like you just fell.” Zevran says, pulling a few stray leaves from her messy hair. “I thought you were already awake. I heard you muttering up there.”

“I wasn’t muttering.” Veren says, before stomping past him. “Stupid dreams,” she mutters, plonking herself down by the fire, where a pot of stew is being heated. 

“Dreams bothering you again?” Zevran asks, pouring out some of the stew and handing it to her. 

“Maybe.” Veren replies quietly.

“I once dreamt of a giant pair of boots chasing me down the streets of Antiva. Who knows what that meant,” Zevran says, taking a seat beside her. “Anything like that in your dreams?”

Veren takes a bite of stew. She grimaces at the taste, but continues to eat anyway. “I don’t know. I forget them when I wake up.”

“Ah, it can be irritating when that happens.” Zevran ponders. “Nevertheless, dreams can often mean nothing. They are just your thoughts and memories, all jumbled up by the Fade. I would not worry about it if I were you.”

Veren nods, thinking over his words.

“Morning,” Kallian says, appearing from her tent. She looks dishevelled, hair sticking up in odd places, still in the clothes she slept in. She stretches and yawns, and takes a seat beside Veren. Zevran hands her a bowl without asking, and she takes it with a sleepy smile. “Sleep well, Veren?”

“Fine.” Veren replies curtly, staring at her stew.

“You know, we have a spare tent -“

“I don’t need your stinkin’ tent, Harellan.” 

“O-kay,” Kallian replies, looking put-out. “Good talk.” 

“We should probably get moving soon,” Erröl announces as he leaves his tent, fully armoured and staff mounted. He looks exhausted, but quickly gets to work with taking down his tent, not even stopping to eat as his stomach rumbles. 

“Come eat, Erröl,” Zevran offers. “We cannot have The Inquisitor walking around Thedas on an empty stomach.”

Erröl pauses, looking between his tent and the food. Or more accurately, between the tent and Veren, sitting by the fire where the food was kept. “I’ll manage,” he says, before continuing to pack. “Cole’s gone ahead to check out our route. Make sure there’s no one that could jeopardise our mission and all that. Where’s the other two? Are they up?”

“I’ll check.” Kallian says, getting to her feet. She wanders over to the silent tent, listening for any noise to indicate they’re awake. “Knock knock,” she says aloud, before entering. “Time to get up, lovebirds.”

She can barely make out the two bodies wrapped in blankets. An angry pair of eyes poke out to glare at her. “Urgh.” Fenris groans. “No.”

“Sorry, but yes.”

“Hawke.”

“Hm?” Hawke hums slowly, still clinging to sleep. 

“Do something about this.”

“About the morning?” Hawke says, rolling over and yawning. 

“Yes.”

“Now that you’re both up, I’ll leave you to argue to your hearts content. But Erröl’s pretty keen to get going as soon as possible. I can’t be held responsible for what mayhem he may cause trying to get you both moving.”

Fenris only grunts in response, curling into the covers. 

“Alright. Your funeral.”

As Kallian vacates the tent and wanders back to the group, Fenris flicks Hawke on the cheek.

“Ow,” Hawke mumbles, eyes still closed. “Wassat for."

“For every early morning you force me into attending. Every flick indicates how many lie-ins you owe me after this.”

“I feel like I’m going to get flicked a lot.” Hawke sighs. “We’ll have a lie-in for every day of the rest of our lives, once this mission is over. Happy?”

“I’ll allow it.” Fenris says, before pressing a kiss to the spot he’d just flicked. “I suppose we should get up.”

“Must we?” Hawke says, curling an arm around him and resting his head on the other’s chest. He sighs contently. “Can’t we go later?”

“You heard the woman, Hawke. Reinforces may be imminent.”

“Let them come,” Hawke says, yawning. “I’ll defend your honour.” Fenris chuckles lightly, his own eyes slipping shut once more. Suddenly, he hears a distant, “Hey Veren, want to go and jump on their tent?” 

The resounding cheer makes him move faster than he ever has before. He phases through Hawke’s arms, through the tent, just in time to watch Veren barrel straight into it, landing on Hawke with a resounding ‘oof!’. Fenris can’t hold back the laughter that escapes as he watches their tent collapse, Veren giggling away as Hawke struggles underneath it. Hawke finally manages to escape, poking his head out to pout in Fenris’ direction. “Thanks for the help.”

“You looked like you had it under control,” Fenris smirks at him, before offering him a hand up. 

“Oh good! You’re both up,” Erröl says, wandering over with a book under his arm. “Come on, we need to get moving. The sooner, the better.”

“What’s your rush?” Hawke says, stretching. “If Leliana’s map is anything to go by, this isn’t going to be the shortest journey. No point in rushing it.”

“No point waiting around, is there? Come on, where’s your adventurous spirit I hear so much about?” Erröl responds, smirking at him. 

 

They set off at a steady pace. Kallian directs the group, a map clutched in her hands, Zevran at her side looking out for anyone they may come across. Cole meets them not far out, and tells them he found no other people about - but did find a suffering injured fennec fox, which he comforted in its last moments. Erröl smiles and shuffles into line beside him as they walk, leaning in close to speak quietly. Fenris and Hawke bring up the rear, with Veren trailing behind at a wary distance. Hawke watches Erröl, intently leaning closer.

“Don’t eavesdrop.” Fenris mutters. “Did your mother never tell you it was rude?”

“Oh, she told me,” Hawke replies. “They’ve been huddled like that for a while, though. What secrets could they possibly be talking about?”

“Inquisition secrets, maybe?” Fenris says, raising an eyebrow.

Hawke opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it. “Fine, I’ll stop.” He looks behind him to see Veren staring at him, a stick in her grasp as she draws patterns on the ground as they walk. Hawke turns back around, before leaning into to Fenris to murmur: “Your new best friend doesn’t like me.”

“She is not my ’new best friend’, Hawke.” Fenris grumbles. “And it’s because you’re a human.”

“What about the others? She’s not keen on them either. Well, aside from Zevran.”

“She doesn’t like the Dalish, she thinks the Spirit is a vessel, and Kallian’s got the elf equivalent of a swear word tattooed on her face.”

“Ah. But your markings are fine?”

“I don’t understand the child, either.” 

“I have a name,” Veren says, suddenly behind them. “I’m not just ‘child’. What if I called you old man?” 

“I would simply ignore it.” Fenris replies, facing forward. 

“Old man,” Veren says again. Fenris does as he said, ignoring her entirely. Hawke watches the interaction with a grin on his face. “Old maaaan. Old man, old man, old man -“

“Do you actually want something or are you purposely trying to irritate me?” Fenris frowns, turning to glare at her. 

“Both,” Veren replies, grinning as Fenris’ eyebrow’s furrow deeper. 

Fenris sighs. “And what do you want?”

Veren looks between the two of them, before scrunching up her nose. “You and the Shem.” 

“I have a name too, you know,” Hawke says. “I’m Hawke. We haven’t spoken much.”

“Shh,” Veren says to him, before turning back to Fenris. “Tell me something.”

“Tell you what?” Fenris asks, furrowing his brow.

“How do you -“ She glances at Hawke briefly, before back at Fenris. “How do you stand him?”

“Excuse me?” Hawke says, blinking.

“He’s Shemlen. Shemlen kill us.” Veren says, matter-of-factly. 

“Not all of them.” Fenris responds. “Just some.”

“All,” Veren corrects. “They all kill us. Some ways more than others.” 

“Hawke would never harm me.” Fenris tells her. 

“What if it's a trap?” Veren asks.

Fenris glances at Hawke and smiles. “Child, I have known Hawke for over a decade. If he were to trap me, he would have done it a long time ago.”

Veren stares at him in disbelief. “Where I come from, you’d be dead in your sleep with his kind around.”

“Veren,” Hawke says, stopping in place. Fenris and Veren stop also, while the others continue. “No one here wants to hurt you. We’re all here, including me, because we want to help you. Find you somewhere suitable to live and grow and,” he pauses, trying to think of how to continue. “Be happy? You can trust me when I say that we’re on your side, here.”

Veren looks at Fenris, as if seeking some confirmation. Fenris nods his head, just slightly. It seems to be enough for Veren to consider it. “We’ll see, Shemlen.” Veren responds skeptically. “Hey, old man.”

“What.” Fenris responds bluntly.

“Are we nearly there? We’ve been walking for ages.” 

“No we are not _nearly_ there - the sun is barely above us. We have many hours of travelling ahead of us.” 

“Urghhhh,” Veren groans.

“Kallian found you in the Dales, didn’t she Veren?” Hawke asks, suddenly. “How far did you walk away from your home?”

“I dunno,” Veren replies. “A few days?” 

“On your _own_?” Hawke asks, affronted.

“Yeah,” Veren frowns. “Why? It’s not hard.”

“How did you know what way to go? What food did you eat? Where did you sleep?”

“I’m an elf,” Veren responds. Hawke stares at her until she provides further answer. “I live in the forest, ya pillock.”

“Oh,” Hawke replies, blinking a few times. “Right. That makes sense.” Hawke looks ahead in time to see Erröl lean away from Cole, finally unhuddling from their secret chatter. Hawke excuses himself from the two elves, and wanders up to another, sliding between him and Cole. 

“Something to share with the class?” Hawke says, raising an eyebrow at Erröl. 

Erröl scratches his forehead, looking away momentarily. “I’d rather not share anything until I have firm proof. You know how it goes.” 

“Sure, sure,” Hawke replies, waving it off, before leaning in closer to Erröl. “PleasetellmeI’mdyingtoknow.”

“I’ll tell you, I promise. I just need more information,” Erröl frowns, fingers tapping against the book still tucked under his arm. 

“What’s with the book?” Hawke asks instead.

Erröl glances at it, momentarily self-conscious. “Oh. This is a book from my Clan - they sent it to me not long after we found Skyhold. They wanted me to keep a piece of them with me so I don’t forget my roots around all the Shemlen,” He says with a chuckle. “It’s an overview of Elvhen history. Part of it, anyway. There’s some wear and tear and words I can’t translate, but it’s always good to keep it to hand.” 

“Neat,” Hawke replies. “Does it talk about any particular clans? Maybe we can find out where Veren comes from.”

“Um,” Erröl responds, busying his eyes with looking anywhere else. “Not specifically, no. This history is a little earlier than clans.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Erröl,” Hawke shakes his head. “How are you in charge of the world’s most powerful organisation?"

“I let Leliana and Josephine lie for me.” 

“So, gonna tell me the truth? Or is that part of the secrety secret thing I can’t know about?”

“Creators…” Erröl sighs. “Are you really going to bug me about this until I tell you?”

“Almost definitely,” Hawke replies, smirking. “Except for when I’m asleep. But trust me, I’ll be trying my hardest to find you in my fade dreams and bug you there too.”

“I don’t think that’s even…” Erröl starts, before shaking his head. “Look, I can’t tell you right now. Just trust that I have this under control, alright?”

“Alright, fine. But don’t blame me when Cole and I start buddying up and whispering about you. Right Cole?”

“ _Hunched over in hushed whispers, plotting, scheming, trying to hurt. Quentin, Anders - unable to stop them, if only you had been quicker -_ “

“Thanks Cole!” Hawke shouts, promptly cutting off Cole. “That was… Just what I wanted.”

“No,” Cole responds, confused. “You wanted me to whisper with you. But whispering doesn’t always mean bad - surprise parties are good, like when Varric threw you one for your 29th birthday.” 

“Did Varric tell you that or did you read my thoughts?” Hawke questions.

“Varric told me.”

“That _was_ a good party. You might be onto something.” Hawke responds, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Their group comes to a sudden halt as Zevran stops, putting his hand up. He pauses for a moment, listening. “We’re being watched. Prepare yourselves.” He keeps walking, at a slow deliberate pace. The rest follow after him, Fenris gesturing for Veren to stay close. Veren stays at his side, watching the forest warily as they pass.

It doesn’t take long. The moment Zevran slips his daggers from his holders, freemen swing down from the trees, surrounding them. Everyone grabs their weapons, ready to attack, but there’s way more of the freemen than them. Erröl counts them as the leader walks over, smirking at them arrogantly. “Fifteen on the ground,” he mutters.

“Seven in the trees,” Zevran replies. 

“Eight,” Kallian corrects, quietly.

“Well, well, well,” The leader starts, hands sliding into his pockets. “What have we got here, then? A bunch of knife-ears and their human pets. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” 

“Did you want something, or are you just a bigot with a big mouth?” Kallian asks, hands tightening around her own daggers. 

“Give us all your coin,” The leader asks, wandering dangerously close. “And maybe we’ll let you leave without a scratch.”

“These shemlen,” Veren murmurs to Fenris. “They’re the bad ones, right?”

“Yes,” Fenris replies, before realising that he’s basically given permission to a toddler. 

Veren just grins at him, before sliding past the adults to the leader.

“Veren -“ Kallian starts, but Veren ignores her.

“You ought to prepare yourself, Shem.” Veren says to him. 

He looks down at the small elf and laughs. “Or what, kid? You gonna kill me?”

“Yes,” Veren says, before summoning her magic and throwing him back against a tree. The others surrounding them attack, and the group raises their weapons ready - Fenris glows bright blue as he steps forward, Hawke begins enchanting under his breath as he raises his staff - but their effort is unnecessary. Veren swipes around at their enemies, flinging back into the foliage surrounding, her hands swirling through the sky as she commands the branches to fall, dropping anyone who remained in the trees. Those who fell helplessly attempt to get to their feet, but Veren commands the roots that surround them to spread and curl, trapping her victims in the soil. Their screams as they’re pulled underground are loud enough to startle the survivors. Veren wastes no time in weeding them out, collecting them together in a nonphysical hand and slamming them into one another. They drop the ground limply. 

The silence rings out around them as the final ones fall. Erröl, Kallian, Fenris and Hawke stares at the child in horror, while Zevran looks undeniably impressed. Cole looks startled, uncomfortable with the raw energy that she released. “Can we carry on now?” Veren asks, looking back at them un-phased. 

“Yep,” Zevran replies, continuing to walk. Veren walks beside him, immediately going back to some menial subject, as if she hadn’t just killed 23 men in an instant. 

The others walk behind them in silence. Erröl’s nose is furiously buried in his book once more, Kallian gently holding the tip of his elbow to keep him from straying off the path or tripping. Hawke and Fenris walk side by side in silence, Cole trailing behind them. 

“I believe you may be rethinking some things,” Fenris starts, quietly.

Hawke nods, silently. 

“She is ruthless,” Fenris comments. “She did not even fear death. Why would she?”

“Who’s to say,” Hawke replies. “That she can even be killed?”

“Hawke-"

“I don’t want to - I would _never_ want to choose that option - but even hypothetically, would that be possible?” Hawke says, biting his lower lip. “I’ve never seen this kind of strength before. She doesn’t cast spells, she doesn’t even need a staff to redirect the magic - it just flows out of her effortlessly. She’s a child, how can she have this much power?” 

“Maybe it was bestowed upon her unwillingly,” Fenris responds, neutrally. “It cannot be natural. No power like that could be been created without some intervention.”

“You really think someone would do that?” Hawke asks, unsurely. Fenris gives him a look and points at his markings. “Okay, someone would definitely do that. Her clan, maybe? Could be why she ran away.”

“It definitely sounds plausible,” Fenris responds. “The Dalish have no templars to tell them when enough is enough. They try anything to help connect them to their gods, including blood magic."

“I can feel a Merrill tangent coming on,” Hawke says, side-eyeing him.

“You cannot tell me you do not see the similarities.” 

Hawke runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Yeah, I see them. That doesn’t mean it’s the same. Veren is young, she can change. But if she doesn’t…” Hawke doesn’t finish his sentence, but Fenris sees the blood drain from his face. Silently, he slips his hand into Hawke’s. 


	4. When Will We Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang visits Erröl's clan, searching for answers about Veren. Veren has other ideas.

They can tell that they’re approaching the mountains when the temperature begins to drop. While the gang pulls out furs to protect them and keep them warm, Veren continues to walk along in her sleeveless tunic and footless leggings. Despite her bare feet, the craggy ground serves as no obstacle to her. Kallian finishes layering up with pelts beneath her armour, and finding one spare, wanders over to Veren. 

“It’s only gonna get colder from here,” Kallian says, holding it out to her. Veren glances between the pelt and Kallian, before rolling her eyes. “I don’t need your spares. I can keep myself warm easily enough.” She says, raising a hand. After a moment, a small ball of energy appears, emitting heat. 

“Might keep your hand warm, sure. But what about the rest of you? What about your feet?” She says, looking at Veren’s mud-covered toes.

Veren shakes her head. “No one taught you nothing, Herellan,” before pressing the ball of energy between her hands. It protests as she closes her hands around it, seeking an exit, before giving in the young girl’s whim, and sinks into her skin. Kallian watches as the energy glows underneath her skin, stretching across every limb until she’s fully covered. She grins, smugly, and wanders on. 

Kallian shakes her head. “That girl is impossible.”

“She’s talented,” Zevran says, coming up beside her. “If the Crows ever got their hands on her, they’d rule all of Thedas by nightfall.” 

“Please don’t say foreboding things like that,” Kallian says, frowning. “I’m so focused on getting her somewhere isolated I can’t even bare the possibility of someone finding out about her. You know, I think this might be _more_ stressful than the Fifth Blight.”

“Are you sure? Personally, I think it has been a breeze so far. She leaves no witnesses.”

“Maybe that’s because she actually likes you,” Kallian grumbles. “Sure, it’s easy peasy when the most powerful child in the world thinks you’re a laugh.”

“Are you jealous?” Zevran says, smirking.

“Obviously!” Kallian huffs. “It’s not like I can just scrub these markings off. It feels like all those years ago that I got these markings was just building up to me being humiliated daily by a ten-year-old. A ten-year-old that terrifies me, by the way.”

“She is not scary,” Zevran protests.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you _not_ witness to the 20 odd people she murdered in under a minute?” Kallian asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

Zevran looks back at her, nonplussed. “She was rather brutal, yes. But she is a child, doing what she has been taught to do. All she needs to do is unlearn those lessons.”

“Oh, that’s all she needs is it?” Kallian grumbles again. 

“It is certainly the place to start,” Zevran responds. “I took the time to unlearn many of the things the Crows taught me - and I have you to thank for that.” 

“I only saved your life, no big deal.” Kallian says, a smile begins to tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Yes, no big deal at all,” Zevran says, smiling back. “Except that I went on living with a fresh perspective, new friends to help me and guide me and you by my side.”

“You put up with me, admit it,” Kallian grins. 

“Only as much as you put up with me.”

“Not even for the bad years?” Kallian asks, voice suddenly quiet.

“There were no bad years,” Zevran reassures. “I know you think I struggled to be at your side while you pined for Morrigan, but I did not. You needed me, and I in turn, needed you. We looked out for one another, and kept each other company, and that is what matters to me.”

Kallian’s smile returns and she chucks an arm around his shoulder as they walk. “I’m glad. I don’t know what I’d do without you. All those years of me pining, it was… Stupid. I look back now and I feel so foolish for even thinking - well, the point is, let’s not bring _her_ up ever again, okay? We’re better off. I’m better off.”

Zevran stares at her for a moment, an unreadable expression in place. His grin resurfaces instantly, and he answers, “If that is what you wish.” 

“This seems like a good place to camp,” Erröl calls from up ahead, and the group finally begin to settle in for the eve, getting the fire roaring and their tents pitched. Veren wastes no time in separating herself from the group, climbing up high into the trees until they can barely see her. 

As they sit around the campfire, Erröl taps his fingers impatiently on his book, one hand between the pages, keeping his place. “I need to speak with you all,” He starts, suddenly. The casual murmurs of conversations cease instantly, everyone’s attention drawn to the Inquisitor. 

“What’s up?” Hawke asks, leaning forward.

Erröl’s eyes slide upwards towards the trees, and the others follow. “It’s about Veren.” Cole lurks at the Inquisitor’s side. Erröl opens up his book to the page he had held, fingers skimming as he finds the relevant paragraphs. “There aren’t many records of clans with red vallaslin,” he starts, hand sliding down the page. “In fact, there’s none in the relevant sections. However, there was a brief mention of it near the end of the book. There’s a clan in the Tirashan which bare similar markings. There seemed to be more information but the page has been torn out. It’s definitely somewhere to start, if we wanted to look into the child’s past.”

“The Tirashan?” Hawke repeats. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s to the left of Orlais. There’s not a lot of documentation on the place, because it’s known to be a dangerous place for outsiders.” Erröl responds.

“Perfect,” Hawke replies. “Sounds right up our alley. Was that all you had to tell us?”

Erröl gives him a guarded expression, hesitating in going any further. “For now, yes. I must admit, I find the child quite strange. There’s things about her which simply don’t make sense. I would rather not throw accusations around without proof, so I ask that we visit my clan on the way; they may have more insight than just this book, and I’m certain the Keeper will know something. If I can find out more about her, I think we can know how to handle her better.” 

“Where is your clan?” Kallian asks.

“Last I heard, they were residing in the Emerald Graves, near Sulevin’s Cradle. It’ll take us another day, maybe two to get there. We can get some supplies too.”

“Sounds good to me.” Kallian says, leaning back a little. “You excited to see your clan?”

“Definitely. I haven’t seen them since I left for Haven. I just hope they haven’t moved on, or it’ll be even harder to find them.”

“They’re still there. They wouldn’t move on without telling you.” Cole answers, making Erröl smile.

“Aw, he can say nice things.” Hawke murmurs to Fenris. As Fenris goes to reply, he sees the rustle of leaves out of the corner of his eye, his gaze drawn to it. He stares and stares, but Veren is nowhere in sight. Fenris wonders how much she heard. 

 

+++

 

“I can’t believe we made it,” Hawke huffs, speeding up as they finally see the Dalish camp up ahead. “Did that day and half feel like a week for anyone else?”

“Is this what having children is like?” Kallian mutters. 

“I can only assume so.” 

“Can you two stop acting like the wounded party in this? Neither of you have to carry her.” Fenris grumbles, Veren fast asleep on his back as he carries her.

“I would, but she hates me.” Kallian says, frowning. 

“Same,” Hawke adds. “We’re nearly there now, Fen. Erröl, can you do the honours?” Hawke asks, as the Dalish guards perk up, drawing their weapons at their approach. Erröl steps in front of them, ready to temper the situation.

“Halt!” One guard says, “State your -“

“Erröl!” The other guard squeals, leaping over to hug him. Erröl groans at the suffocating hug, but allows it, breathing heavily when he’s finally put down. 

“Ashine?” Erröl blinks. “You cut your hair.”

Ashine smiles, brushing her short platinum bangs away from her face. “Lethallan, it has so long! I can’t believe you’re here. We didn’t even know you were coming!”

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” The other guard asks, frowning. 

Ashine smacks his arm, which he rubs a little. “Ignore him, Erröl. He’s from another clan. This is Erröl, Varvin. You know, the Inquisitor? The leader of the Inquisition?”

“Really?” Varvin says, eyes wide.

Erröl turns red. “Ashine, you don’t need to bring it up every t-“

“I helped him get there you know,” Ashine says, grinning proudly. “If it weren’t for me keeping him in line when he was causing trouble, the world would still be in pieces.”

“An interesting take.” Erröl responds, deadpanning. “Can we come in? We’ve been travelling for days.”

“Oh sure! Varvin, go tell the Keeper Erröl’s here. She’s gonna shit herself.” She says, grinning. Varvin dashes off, and Ashine leads the group into the camp. It’s a nice, wide space hidden by tall surrounding trees, making it a perfect Dalish campsite. 

“You don’t need someone to stand guard?” Fenris asks, looking back at the empty look out spot. 

“Naw. We got Yewen in the trees still, he’ll keep look out ’til we’re back.” Ashine answers, leading them over to the campfire, where several elves sit warming themselves. 

“At least they’re thorough,” Fenris mutters to himself, more than anyone else.

The Keeper rises as they approach; her long silver hair flowing down her back in braids, her eyes sparkling at the sight of Erröl. 

“Da’len,” The Keeper says, giving him a hug as they approach. “What brings you back to us? I thought you were doing important work.”

“I still am,” Erröl says, sheepishly. “I actually stopped by to pick your brain on a subject. But first, would it be okay if we stayed for the night? My companions and I are quite exhausted.” 

“Of course, of course,” The Keeper says, nodding her head slightly at them all. Her eyes rest on Kallian for a second longer, and she shrinks under the gaze. “You child,” She says. “Come closer.”

Kallian gulps, and steps closer. “I know what it looks like, but-“

The Keeper brushes her hand against Kallian’s markings, sighing sadly. “You poor soul. These markings, they are too thick - rushed, I presume. They are too blunt, also - they were not the gift you were promised, Da’len.”

Kallian blinks, surprised. “How did you…”

“We do not bestow these markings unwillingly. Each Vallaslin is done with precision, care and tenderness - it represents loyalty, unity, and connection to the Gods. To scar your face with such remarks is unacceptable, and I apologise on behalf of whoever chose to take that path towards hurting you.”

Kallian looks speechless. She opens her mouth and closes it, before repeating the action. “Thank you.” She says, “But it is not your responsibility to be sorry.”

The Keeper pats her cheek once more, before dropping her hand. “It does not need to be.” Kallian has a small smile on her face as she turns away from her. She nods towards Zevran and Fenris, not commenting on their own markings, her eyes drawn to the small child nestled into Fenris’ back. “And who is this little one?”

Veren, woken up by the talking, glares at the Keeper over Fenris’ shoulder. “I’m not little.”

The Keeper keeps her expression schooled as her eyes dance over the girl’s markings. “You aren’t up there, that much is certain.” 

Fenris puts Veren down, stretching his back as she steps closer to the Keeper, still guarded. “Who are you, then?”

“I am Keeper Nonowen, but you may call me Keeper, Da’len. Are you hungry?”

“No,” Veren responds, before her stomach audibly rumbles. “Yes.”

The Keeper gives a soft chuckle. “I’m sure you are all hungry and weary from your travels. Ashine, will you ask Zathlan to prepare more food?”

“I’m on it.” Ashine says, but doesn’t leave before ruffling Erröl’s hair. “Good to have you back, Lethallan.”

Erröl smiles. “It’s good to be back.”

As the group settles down by the fire to eat, trading stories with other Dalish, Zevran desperately trying to get Veren to stop glaring at everyone, Erröl wanders away from the group, over to where the Keeper resides by an aravel, searching through its contents. “Keeper,” Erröl says. “You must know why I came back.”

“The child,” Keeper Nonowen replies, finally tugging an old, worn book from the pile. “She’s not Dalish, is she?”

“I don’t think so, no.” Erröl says, biting his lip. “I hate to imagine the worst, but, well… I think maybe-“

“Erröl?”

Erröl turns at the sound of his name, eyes wide when he sees him. He’s stockier than most elves, his brown hair in a style similar to Erröl’s, though a little shorter. “ _Arahiel?_ ” 

Arahiel stops in his tracks. “What are you doing here?” 

“That’s a little tricky to explain.” Erröl says, rubbing the back of his neck. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I just got back from a mission.” He replies, nonchalantly.

“What mission? From who?”

Arahiel snorts. “From who? The Inquisition, obviously. You know, _your_ organisation.”

Erröl blinks at him, trying to processing the information. “Hang on, you work for the Inquisition, now?”

“Uh, yes? I’ve been working for them for months. Did none of the higher ups tell you?”

“Obviously not!” Erröl yells, feeling frustrated. “What the - have you been to Skyhold, then?”

“A few times, sure. I’m mostly out in the field, though.”

“Why did - why did no one tell me?!” 

“Don’t worry so much. They probably just didn’t want to throw you off, making you worry about me in the line of duty, or whatever.” Arahiel says, brushing it off.

“How come you didn’t come see me? All that time I spent missing home, and there was a piece of home with me all along!”

Arahiel puts his hands on his hips. “Hey, don’t strop. I tried to visit you a few times, but you were always out exploring Thedas, or at the Winter Palace, or recovering from fighting bears.”

Erröl huffs, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t _believe_ they didn’t tell me - this is _so_ typical of Leliana to -“

Arahiel stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let it go, Erröl. You were busy, you had a lot on your plate. To be honest, I was impressed to see how much you were doing. You never put that amount of effort in here,” Arahiel grins.

“I put effort in!” Erröl frowns, crossing his arms. “I just - was a little misguided in my efforts, at times.”

“Like when you set fire to my grimoire,” Keeper Nonowen interjects. 

“No one is ever going to let me forget that, are they? No, forget ‘Herald of Andraste’ and ‘Leader of the Inquisition’ and ‘first person to enter the physical fade’, let’s just talk about that one time I set fire to your favourite book.”

“That book had our ancestral lines written in it,” The Keeper grumbles. “You’re lucky it wasn’t something even more important, like the book I’m holding right now with the answers you seek in it.”

“Really?!” Erröl says, beaming. 

“What’s he been asking now? Please say it’s not where babies come from again.”

“Of course not,” Erröl frowns. “It’s not - it doesn’t matter what I’ve been asking. I really need to study the book, for reasons. Reasons you can’t know about."

Arahiel hums and crosses his arms. He taps his foot lightly against the ground, watching the way Erröl tugs at his lip, obviously torn. Arahiel has had plenty of practice at making Erröl give up his secrets. Despite being the most powerful leader in Thedas, that hasn’t changed Erröl’s inability to keep his mouth shut. 

“Fine! I’ll tell you.” Erröl huffs, throwing up his arms in dismay. Arahiel raises an eyebrow, but follows after him as they walk over to a more secluded spot. Erröl sits by the tree, and Arahiel joins him, watching him open up the book. Erröl flicks through a few pages, murmuring to himself as he goes. He finally finds what he’s looking for and turns the book to Arahiel.

“The Forgotten Ones?” Arahiel questions, furrowing his brow. “Erröl, what are you up to?”

“Research,” Erröl replies, “Now listen.”

  
  


Above the trees, a child wanders. Steps light and agile as she passes through the trees, from branch to branch, soundlessly. She rests amongst the tallest tree, keen eyes watching Erröl and his clanmate from high above. 

 _He knows too much. You should kill him._ A voice whispers into her head.

_She can’t kill him! It’ll draw too much attention. We must bide our time._

_Kill him. Kill him. Kill him!_

Veren sticks her fingers in her ears, as if it may help silence them. Since they’re inside her head and not out of it, it doesn’t make much difference. “I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Veren frowns, leaning closer to the two elves below her.

_We have heard enough. The false elf knows more than we realised._

_His knowledge is still limited. We have to change his mind, before he rallies against us._

“Change his mind?” Veren asks. “How do I do that?”

_Curse him._

_Charm him, my child. Sentimentality is the killer of all suspicion._

_Distract him with nightmares. He will not seek your answers if he is preoccupied by his own._

Veren nods, though she isn’t sure which path she’s meant to take. This happened occasionally - the voices would argue and offer up too many ideas for Veren to follow all at once, only to yell at her and punish if she did it wrong. 

She wasn’t going to get it wrong this time.

 _The children,_ one voice says, _play with the children._

Veren nods, climbing back across the trees and making her way down. The other Dalish have been apprehensive of her so far, though she’s certain they don’t even know why they should be apprehensive of her. As such, she puts on a wide grin and dashes towards the nearest gaggle of kids her own age, asking if they want to play. The other children don’t look at her strangely the way the adults do, making it easier for her fit in. 

Despite her intentions, Veren ends up having fun playing with the Dalish children. They show her games she’s never heard of before like Hide and Seek, which Veren takes immense pleasure in yelling “I found you!” after searching the surrounding woodland. She almost forgot she was doing it for a reason, and not just to have fun. She had no idea the Dalish could be so entertaining. 

 _Don’t lose focus,_ a voice snaps in her ear, making her straighten up tensely. _Talk to the false elf._

Veren nods, heading over to Erröl, though not without another longing look towards the playing children. They’d started a new game now, and Veren wanted nothing more than to join in. She shuts down her own thoughts before the voices can yell at her, walking over to the Inquisitor with purpose. 

“You Dalish are entertaining.” Veren starts, stopping in front of him. 

Erröl, who had still been huddled in whispers with his friend, snaps the book shut the moment he spots her.

“Veren,” he greets her, voice even. “You having fun?”

Veren nods. “We didn’t have games like that in my clan.”

Erröl’s eyes widen a margin, and he leans closer. “What was your clan like?”

Veren shrugs, leaning against the tree. The other Dalish elf regards them with a careful eye, obviously wary. “Quiet,” She answers. “Lots of studying.”

“Were there no children your age to play with?”

Veren shakes her head. “There was another child, for a while.” 

“What happened to them?” Erröl asks, paling.

“They got older.”

“Older?”

“Yeah. Like you.”

“I’m not old!” Erröl scowls. Arahiel laughs beside him, holding his stomach as he does so.

“Veren, stop calling people old,” Fenris says, as he wanders over. 

“You’re the oldest, old man.” Veren responds, crossing her arms. 

“Yes, and as the oldest, I’m telling you it's past your bedtime.” Fenris deadpans.

Veren goes on the defensive immediately. “You don’t tell me when to sleep!”

“We have a lot of travelling to do tomorrow, and I’m not carrying you all that way. Either you sleep now, or Hawke carries you tomorrow.”

Veren’s face scrunches up a number of degrees. “Fine, I’ll sleep.”

“Good,” Fenris says, motioning her away from the two Dalish. She huffs and frowns at him, but follows his instructions, heading off towards the trees. 

Despite the circumstances, Erröl feels a grin tugging at his lips. Fenris frowns when he spots it.

“What.”

“Nothing, nothing,” Erröl says, waving it off. At Fenris’ deadly gaze, Erröl clears his throat. “I was just thinking that you’d make a good father, Fenris.”

Fenris blinks a few times, opening his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. “That’s ridiculous -“ He starts, but seems to be unsure himself. “I - hm.” Without another word, he turns on his heel, heading back towards the campfire.

Arahiel turns to Erröl and inclines his head towards the book. “Do you really think it’s true?”

Erröl sighs. “I’m not certain. There’s just things that don’t make _sense_ about her, and - well, it’s not like anything they say in here makes sense either - but at least neither of them make sense. Surely that’s something?” Erröl asks, before groaning and shoving his face in his hands. “Coming here was supposed to give me answers, not more questions.”

Arahiel pats him on the back. “You’ll figure it out. To me, she just seems like a strange child who grew up in a difficult place.”

“Do you know much of the Tirashan?”

Arahiel shakes his head. “I’ve been to the outskirts on missions, but I could never get any nearer. There’s traps set all over the place, some obvious, as warning signs, but others plenty hidden. I really didn’t fancy losing a leg just to collect some rare samples.”

Erröl grabs a small notebook from inside his coat, making notes. “Traps, you say. What kind of traps?”

“All sorts. Snares, clamps, plenty of magical traps in place too; you’re going to have to ward up your people before you enter.”

Erröl nods as he listens, scribbling endless notes. “Thanks, Arahiel.”

“No problem, Lethallan. Just don’t come back without any limbs, okay?” He jokes. Erröl’s right hand jerks suddenly, making him drop his quill. Erröl curses, picking it back up. 

“No promises,” Erröl says.

Arahiel pats his shoulder once more and gets to his feet. “I’m going to get some rest; you should too. Don’t stay up all night studying that book, will you?”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Erröl says, waving him off as he opens the book once more, scribbling furiously in his notebook as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleakzeke.tumblr.com


	5. Home Is Where We Decide It Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Veren consider what family means. Kallian realises she's not over the person she left in the past. Erröl comes up with a plan.

“Come back soon, Da’len,” Keeper Nonowen says as she strokes Erröl’s cheek. Erröl smiles, nodding back to her. 

Ashine appears at her side, pulling Erröl into a headlock and ramming her knuckles against his head. “And don’t cause any trouble!”

“Ow, ow, ow!” Erröl yelps. “Ashine! Let go!”

“Saved the world and he can’t even handle a simple noogie.” Ashine tuts, releasing him. “The rest of you like that?”

“I mean, noogies are the worst.” Hawke answers in passing.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Ashine sighs. She tugs Erröl into a tight hug. “Stay safe out there, won’t you?”

“Always do,” Erröl grins.

“Liar.” Arahiel says with an eye-roll as he wanders over, but pulls him into a hug all the same. “Write to me if things get… Difficult. Okay?”

“I will.” 

Fenris watches them for a moment, leaning against a tree. He barely notices as Hawke wanders over to him, standing at his side as he follows Fenris’ line of sight.

“Thinking of joining the Dalish?” Hawke asks.

Fenris snorts. “Don’t be foolish.” 

“You seem pretty fascinated by them.” Hawke comments.

“Fascinated is an interesting word of choice.” Fenris replies. “I was simply… Pondering.”

“Oh? And what were you pondering?” Hawke says, raising an eyebrow.

Fenris folds his arm, tugging his eyes away from the family. “What it’s like. To be so far from your family and miss them all the time. I wonder, if things between Varania and I…” He starts, before shaking his head. “It is a foolish thought.”

“It’s not foolish,” Hawke says, turning to face him. “And it’s not like you haven’t felt that before. You didn’t miss me while I was at Skyhold?”

“Of course I did,” Fenris says. “But is that the same?”

“I suppose it’s a little different,” Hawke admits. “But similar concept. Family is weird and complicated.” 

Fenris looks back to the Dalish, crowding around Erröl to say their goodbyes. “They make it look simple enough.”

“That’s because we’ve been here a day,” Hawke says. “Stick around for another, I’m sure the claws will come out soon enough. Two drinks in and someone will start screaming, ’This is why you’re the shame of this family!’ before everyone tries to act like it never happened the next day.”

“Why do I feel like you’re talking from experience?”

“Fenris, come on. You’ve met my family.” Hawke says, “Maker knows I loved them all but we weren’t perfect. A lot of the time we weren’t even ‘good’. After father died, everything got a lot harder. It was like a hole appeared in our world. We all walked around as if we couldn’t feel his absence every second. It ended in plenty of arguments. Not that we needed a family death to cause arguments,” Hawke rambles, “We could manage that all by ourselves. Then Bethany went, and the hole got even bigger. Mother blamed me, Carver blamed me, I blamed me. For a while, things started getting better, until Carver…” Hawke seems desperate to stop talking about the subject, but his mouth doesn’t seem to agree. It continues on. “Then when Mother went, I thought I had lost everything. Everything that I was. The hole was swallowing me.” Fenris slides a hand up to caress his cheek, and Hawke holds it there. “And then you were there. You didn’t know what to say, you just didn’t want me to be alone.” 

“You would have done the same for me. You  _ did _ do the same for me.”

“That’s what family is, Fenris.” Hawke says, before pressing a kiss against Fenris’ forehead. 

“Hey, lovebirds!” Kallian yells over to them, Zevran at her side. “We gotta head out.” 

“Coming,” Hawke replies. “Oh look, your best friend is here.” 

Fenris looks down to see Veren standing there, tapping her foot impatiently. “When did you get here?”

“I’ve been here for ages! You two were too distracted by all your talking and staring to notice.” Veren remarks crossly. 

“Then we best not keep you waiting any longer.” Fenris says, striding off in Kallian’s direct with purpose. Hawke and Veren follow after him, waving goodbye to the Dalish as they go. 

Erröl runs up to them moments later with red eyes, striding forward with determination. Cole appears at his side in moments. “They’ll still be there when you come back,” he says, in response to Erröl’s thoughts.

Erröl smiles softly at them. “I know, Cole. I just worry about them.”

“Like they worry about you. It’s strange. Even though you just saw each other, you’re all so worried.”

“That’s what families are like.” Erröl answers with a shrug. 

As Fenris walks on, still pondering Erröl and his clan, he feels a small tug on his tunic, turning to see Veren staring up at him. “Yes?”

“Is that really what families are like? What clans are like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Fenris responds. “I’ve never had a family.”

“Me neither.” Veren says, staring at the ground.

“What about your clan?” Fenris asks. “Did they not care for you?”

Veren doesn’t reply for a moment. “They weren’t like that.”

Fenris slows his pace, dropping them back from the group a little. “What were they like?”

Veren stares out at the trees as she answers. “They were quiet. Didn’t talk to me much. Not like that.”

“How  _ did _ they talk to you?”

“Just boring stuff. Reciting all these books at me. It was really boring. I just wanted to have fun, but there was no one to play with.” 

“So they taught you? Did they teach you how to use your magic?”

Veren turns to face him then. “Why don’t you have a clan? Or a family?”

“I used to,” Fenris says, before pausing. He wasn’t sure how much he should share with a ten-year-old. “I lost my memory. With that, I lost them too.”

“Do you miss them?” Veren asks, curiously.

“I don’t remember them well enough to miss them.” Fenris says, truthfully. It feels shameful to admit it. He feels like he should miss them, miss them the way Hawke misses his family. But when he thinks of his mother, he can only see a glimpse of long dark hair, and when he thinks of Varania he can only remember her betrayal and his fist embedded in her chest. “Do you miss your clan?”

“Not really. I didn’t like them.” Veren answers. Fenris almost feels a sense of relief at her answer, glad to find someone else who understood. 

Fenris nods. “It’s okay, I think. To not like where you came from.”

“You think?”

“I’m not exactly the most knowledgeable on this subject, but yes. I think so.”

“Good.” Veren says. “Can we play a game now?”

 

“Your clan is quite lovely, Erröl,” Zevran says, after a couple of miles. “It was a lot different from meeting Kalli’s alienage, I’ll tell you that much.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Kallian says with a roll of her eyes.

“We get there and there’s people dying in the streets. Not too unusual, but there were plenty of them for such a small alienage. Then we find out they are being sold into slavery by Tevinters, who are pretending to be healing the sick. Let me tell you, Kallian was not pleased. Especially when they took her father. Did I mention that while this was happening, the whole alienage hated Kallian and her family because what happened on her wedding day?”

“You know what, I almost forgot about that. Huh. I was just thinking of hanging out with my family while we were there.”

“Which was just as much of a disaster,” Zevran continues. “I may not know much of family, but the Tabris clan are a crazy bunch. Kallian walks in and immediately digs up an old bottle of whiskey, drinks half of it herself, gets into an argument with her cousin, before making up and leaving. Not to mention you introduced Morrigan as a swamp witch who’s mother you murdered.”

Kallian twitches, barely noticeable to her companions. Zevran catches it out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah… I guess that did all happen.”

“Wait, Morrigan?” Erröl asks, suddenly. Kallian turns around to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t realise you knew Morrigan!”

“Who doesn’t,” Zevran answers. Kallian elbows him in the gut. “She travelled with us during the Fifth Blight.”

“Oh shit, of course. I just never connected the two of you - it’s strange. What was she like back then?”

“Sharp, blunt and self-entitled.” Kallian answers, coldly. “Why, has she changed?”

“I didn’t find her to be like that,” Erröl says. “Well, she was maybe a little self-entitled. She was also brilliant, though. Interesting to talk to, and her bond with her son is quite something.”

“Wait,” Kallian stops, turning to face him, expressionless. “Hang on. Her son? You met him?”

“Oh yeah. He’s very quiet and polite. A little odd, I suppose, but aren’t we all?”

Kallian doesn’t answer. Abruptly, she turns on her heel, walking off into the woods. 

“Where’s she going?” Hawke asks, watching her storm off through the trees. “We’re meant to be going north, aren’t we?”

Zevran sighs. “I will retrieve her. If we take longer than five minutes, walk on. We will catch up.” He says to the group, before striding after her.

When he finally catches up to her, she’s knocking her head lightly against a tree. “Unbelievable.” She utters. “Isn’t it just  _ unbelievable? _ ”

Zevran leans against a tree opposite. “What is?”

“Is it just  _ me?” _ She cries out. “Am I just not - was I not good enough? The bloody Inquisitor gets to meet her son, bloody everyone at Skyhold has met her son! But me? Who am I? Just some stranger from ten years ago. Barely worth contacting. I didn’t even know she was  _ alive, _ and she’s been there all along, fucking around with the Inquisitor, acting like a saint. What’s so wrong with  _ me _ that I wasn’t good enough to share that with?!”

“Time has passed, Kalli,” Zevran says. “What did you expect? For her to hide away forever and never meet anyone?”

“YES!” Kallian screams, hands embedded in her hair, clinging to her braids. “Because that’s what she told me! What was I supposed to think?!”

“Kalli,” Zevran starts. “Many times we have rehashed Morrigan. Many times have we had this same conversation.”

“I know,” Kallian says. “I know. I’m sorry.” She slides to the floor, leaning her forehead against the tree. “I’m awful.”

“You aren’t awful,” Zevran says, wandering over to her. “It has been ten years, Kalli. She has moved on with her life, just like you have moved on with yours. There is no point in staying stuck in the past. You taught me that.”

“I know,” Kallian sobs. “I’m just - I’m just -“

“It’s okay.” Zevran says, rubbing her back. “It will be okay. Shall we return to the others?”

Kallian nods and Zevran pulls her to her feet, walking back arm in arm.

The gang is silent when they return. “Sorry for the holdup.” She says, before wandering on down the path. The others look between themselves, still unsure about what just happened. 

“Uh… Kallian?” Erröl starts, stepping into stride beside her. 

“What’s up?” Kallian answers neutrally.

“Sorry if I… said something that upset you.”

Kallian waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. She’s just - not an easy topic for me.” 

“I gathered that. From the, storming off and screaming.”

“Yeah.” Kallian says, before quickly changing the subject. “So. You and a Qunari, huh? What’s that like?"

“Bull is great,” Erröl grins. “I’d love for you to meet him someday. He’s funny, charismatic, and  _ really _ , I mean  _ really _ hot.”

“A funny and charismatic Qunari. Wonders never cease.” Kallian hums. 

 

As the group settle down to camp for the evening, Zevran starts preparing the fire. Hawke wanders over, taking a seat beside him. “Want some help?”

Zevran grins. “I’ll always take a helping hand from the Champion.”

Hawke laughs, before tapping the wood with his staff. A flame ignites it, burning away at the wood happily. Zevran moves back and sits beside him. His eyes wander over to the two elves across from them. Fenris stands by a tall oak, eyes covered, counting to ten. Veren dashes about madly, considering her options. By eight she’s already hidden herself up a branch, watching Fenris with glee. Fenris pulls his hands away, looking around for her. “Found you,” He says, looking up and seeing her a second later. 

“You can’t even see me!” 

“Then how did I just find you?”

“Lucky guess!” Veren says, making her way down. “You’re turn to hide now.”

“Must I?” Fenris asks, tiredly. “We’ve been playing this game for a while.”

“Yes!” Veren says. Fenris sighs, giving in. Veren grins, heading off to count. 

Zevran and Hawke watch as Fenris looks around, before hiding behind the tree Veren is currently counting against.

“Those two seem quite taken with each other,” Zevran says, suddenly. “T’is sweet, no?”

“Very sweet,” Hawke agrees with a soft smile on his face. “You know, before this mission, we were planning on settling down and everything. It kind of feels like we already are.” Hawke says, watching as Veren finishes counting and looks around, running off to find Fenris. Fenris turns to see where she is, before spotting the two watching them. Hawke grins at him, and Fenris gives him a small smile back. “Not that Veren will even talk to me, unless she feels like insulting someone.”

Zevran chuckles. “She will come around. I do not think her interactions with humans thus far have been especially friendly.”

“Ya think?” He says, watching as Fenris leans against the tree with his eyes closed, unbeknown to the hidden threat above him. Veren falls from the branch above, landing on Fenris with a resounding ‘oomph’. 

“Found you!” Veren yells, and Fenris, despite his grumpy expression, grunts, “You found me.”

Hawke gives a low chuckle, before looking around the camp. “Where’s Kallian gone off to?”

“Went for a walk with Erröl, I think.” 

Hawke nods. “How are you, Zevran?”

Zevran hums. “Not too bad.”

“Really?”

“Why would I not be?”

Hawke taps his fingers against his knees. “Earlier, with Kallian.” 

Zevran is waving it off before Hawke can finish his sentence. “The past is a shadow we drag around with us, but we need it to know we still exist. Sometimes we stare at our shadows too hard and only see what is missing.”

“Very profound,” Hawke hums. “So it doesn’t bother you? You aren’t jealous?”

Zevran shakes his head. “Kalli and I know what we are to each other. I have nothing to be jealous of.”

 

“What do you think Veren is?” Kallian asks, as she walks side by side through the trees with the Inquisitor. Her hand brushes against the bark as she goes, the setting sun shining through the trees and bouncing off leaves. 

“I’ve a new theory every day,” Erröl responds, tiredly.

“Tell me one of them. Tell me your favourite theory.”

“I don’t have a  _ favourite _ ,” Erröl scowls. “They’re all equally terrible, to be honest.”

“Just spill already.”

“Well, aside from the ridiculous amount of power, she seems a normal enough kid. I think it’s possible her clan used her in some sort of ritual, which scared her, making her run away.”

“Reasonable,” Kallian agrees.

“However,” Erröl continues. “Her power is beyond even the most talented of mages. It’s unnatural, as well as how she uses it. No staff, no conductor; she  _ is _ the conductor. She kills without remorse, without even a second thought. No normal child kills twenty people without blinking; it’s possible her clan sacrificed many, possibly making her numb to the sight.”

“Maker, that’s horrible.” Kallian murmurs. They keep wandering the forest, looking back occasionally to remember the way they came. 

Kallian jumps when Erröl suddenly blurts, “Oh Creators, I’ve just had an idea that you probably won’t like.”

Kallian glances over at him skeptically. “Which is?”

Erröl side-eyes her, before looking anywhere else. “Uhh.” 

“Out with it, Lavellan.”

Erröl bites his lip. “Well, this kind of magic seems to be very old, since there isn’t much written about it. Every time I try, I can never pin it down right. But there’s someone who might know. Someone who goes out of her way to dig around old Elvhen magic.”

Kallian squints at him for a second, before realisation flashes across her face. She glares at him. “You cannot be serious.”

“Think about it,” Erröl starts, but Kallian cuts him off.

“Nope,” she replies, turning on her heel and heading back to camp. “We are not contacting  _ her.” _

“She’s the only one who could actually help us,” Erröl tries again, trying to catch up with her quick pace. 

“I think she’s helped  _ enough, _ ” Kallian returns, venomously. “She’s played her part. Besides, there’s nothing in it for her. Other than maybe kidnapping the child to experiment on her, or something.”

“Do you really think she’d do that?” Erröl says, eyebrows creasing. “She loves her son, there isn’t anything she wouldn’t d-“

“I don’t care!” Kallian yells loudly, forcing birds to scatter above them. Erröl goes silent, staring at her. She takes a deep breath, and continues in a more even tone. “I don’t  _ care _ . I don’t wanna hear about her, I don’t wanna see her, and I  _ definitely _ don’t want to ask her for help.”

A ball of anger suddenly bubbles up through Erröl at her childishness. “You realise what this mission is, right?” Erröl replies, hotly. “It’s not about you. This is about Veren. We need to figure out what she is, and how to deal with her.”

“I thought this was about finding her a safe place to grow up,” Kallian deadpans.

“Will anywhere be safe for her? For Thedas?”

“She’s a kid!” Kallian argues. “Sure she’s different and weird and definitely a little scary but she isn’t something for you to prod and poke at,  _ Inquisitor. _ You can’t just lock her up in the Inquisition’s dungeons until you ‘judge’ her.” Kallian glares at him now, red in the face, fists clenched. Erröl glares back. “Despite what the rest of the world thinks, Erröl, you  _ aren’t _ a higher being. You aren’t the leader, not here.” 

“Of course I’m not!” Erröl yells. “I never said that I was! But a  _ true _ leader would consider all options necessary to getting the end result, regardless of how hard or painful they are. What are you so afraid of? You spent over a year with Morrigan and now you can’t even have one conversation with her?!”

“She betrayed me.” Kallian says, anger suddenly vanquished. “She made me fall in love with her and then she abandoned me. I would have given her everything, done anything to be with her, and she just…” Kallian cuts off, shaking her head. “I can’t. I can’t face her.”

Erröl considers her words as they walk back to camp in silence. He wasn’t shy to betrayal - Solas, most noticeably, still remained at the back of his mind, attached to a small ball of anger that Erröl had locked away his head. Probably not the healthiest method, but Erröl couldn’t help but wish to find Solas just so he  _ could _ unlock it. Thinking about it for too long tugged at the seams, and so Erröl turns back to Kallian and her dilemma. “Alright, I have a deal for you.”

Kallian looks over at him. “I’m listening.” 

“I’ll keep searching for leads,” He starts. “But if we find none, if they turn up nothing - then we go to Morrigan.”

Kallian is silent for a moment, before slightly nodding. “Fine.” She mutters. 

“You don’t have to come,” Erröl adds. “But I think you should. I think it would be good for you both.”

Kallian tuts under her breath, muttering her grievances. “Whatever. I’ll think about it.”

Erröl smiles. “That’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleakzeke.tumblr.com


	6. A Smaller Version Of Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang pass through a village, and Veren disappears. Fenris falls into fatherhood, whether he wants to or not.

_ “You cannot be serious,” Fenris says, folding his arms. _

_ “I’m very serious. Haven’t you met me? Always serious, I am.” _

_ “I can’t be a... Parent. You realise I can’t even remember my own family, correct? I don’t exactly have anything to go off of.” _

_ “So what?” Hawke says with a shrug. “You don’t need to know about parenting, you learn along the way - that’s what my mother always told me.” _

_ Fenris blinks a few times. He couldn’t believe this was where Hawke’s mind was headed, only a week after they had escaped Kirkwall. “Hawke.” _

_ “Pleaaaase don’t say my name in that tone. That’s your ‘I’m not going to budge on this and that’s that’ tone. You could at least imagine it!” _

_ “I am imagining it. It’s terrifying. The thought of another’s life in my hands, the ability to shape and mould them however I see fit - it’s not... It’s not something I...” _

_ “Fenris,” Hawke says, clasping his hands around the elf’s. “Being a parent isn’t about making someone do what you tell them to. It’s about guiding them and helping them and loving them even when they make mistakes. Maker knows how many mistakes I made growing up. Even if it made my mother angry, or father yell - at the end of the day, it didn’t change anything. We were still family.” _

_ “That’s what you want, is it?” Fenris asks, softly. “A family?” _

_ “Doesn’t everyone?” Hawke says, with a small smile. _

_ “I haven’t had the best experiences.” Fenris says, tugging his hands from Hawke’s. “Varania - I knew nothing about her until I met her. And then, well. Then it all went to shit.” _

_ “What about your other family?” _

_ Fenris wrinkles his nose. “I really hope you aren’t suggesting Danarius.” _

_ Hawke frowns. “Of course not! I meant us! Me, Varric, Isabela, Aveline, Sebastian, Merrill - even Anders.” _

_ Hawke’s voice twists a little on Anders’ name, the wound still fresh, the image of his fallen friend on the ground still painted onto his eyelids. Hawke looks down at his hands, the phantom knife still in his grasp. _

_ Fenris sighs. “I suppose they were a sort of family.” _

_ “They still are,” Hawke says, looking back up at him. “We might not all be together anymore, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t family. We all have each other’s backs when we need it. Distance doesn’t change that.” _

_ Fenris nods, slightly. “I wasn’t all that good at being family to them, either.” _

_ “You don’t have to be good, Fenris. Maker, my words are going in one ear and out the other. Aveline protected you from losing your home. Anders healed you when you were wounded. Varric brought you wine and cheered you up whenever he could see you were in a bad mood.” _

_ “But I didn’t help them.” _

_ “You helped me,” Hawke says, looking straight at Fenris. “You always keep me grounded. You laugh at my jokes when no one else does. You tried to comfort me and, though failing spectacularly, stayed with me and made me feel safe, and loved.” _

_“No, Hawke, you aren’t getting it.” Fenris scowls. “Those aren’t - it’s not enough! Shouldn’t I have done more? All those years I made you hurt, don’t they count for something? Why do I deserve this?_ _How_ _could I deserve this?”_

_ “Fenris,” Hawke says. “Didn’t you hurt too? Couldn’t I have done more? Whatever the answer is, is doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change that you deserve to be loved and cared for. You deserve to be happy.” _

_ Fenris slides down to the floor, and Hawke follows. They sit across from each other on the soil, both in their own heads, waiting for the other to speak. _

_ “What do you want?” Fenris asks, eventually. _

_ “Huh?” _

_ “A... Boy? A girl?” _

_ “It doesn’t really matter to me. But if I had to choose, I’d say... A girl.” Hawke says, after some pondering. “What about you?” _

_Fenris stares at his hands, and imagines a tiny pair resting against his. He looks up, seeing a small, ginger elven girl smiling up at him. The resemblance to Varania is enough to cut short the experiment. “A boy.” Fenris finally answers. He didn’t enjoy the thought of looking into a face that could remind him of his sister - of their history, of what she did, of what_ _he_ _did. Fenris feared many things that involved parenting, but adding resentment to the list wasn’t something he wanted to encourage._

* * *

They’re just finishing packing up, Veren watching from a branch as they do, drowning out the voices that fizzle inside her mind. Cole appears at her side, at first saying nothing. 

“Noisy in there,” Cole says, despite the peaceful forest surrounding them. Veren turns at glares at him.

“Get out,” Veren says, immediately. “You aren’t allowed.”

“Do you miss the quiet?”

“I’m missing it right now with you talkin’ to me, Vessel.”

“I could help,” Cole offers, holding out a hand. “If you wanted.”

Veren eyes him carefully. “Will you tell the others?”

“They can help too,” Cole answers.

Veren sighs. She pauses for a moment. “Of course. You’re right,” Veren says, nodding.

“Oh,” Cole says, pleasantly surprised. He keeps his hand in place, waiting for her to take it. “Good. Please, take my hand -“

At Cole’s words, Veren turns to him suddenly, before frowning. “Oh, not you. As if I’d be talkin’ to  _ you. _ ” Veren says, gesturing to her head. “You aren’t useful yet, Vessel. I think I’ll just take back what’s mine.” She tells him, before grabbing his hand. A deep purple stream of magic seems to spew out of her fingers, curling and winding around Cole’s outstretched hand, trapping him in place. Cole shudders and shimmers as the magic works it’s way through him, making him feel faded at the edges. When Veren pulls her hand away, Cole looks at her, becoming physical once more, and blinks a few times. 

“What - what happened?” Cole asks, dazedly.

“You were going to offer to the others help,” Veren tells him. “And leave me alone.”

Cole nods fiercely, before appearing at Hawke’s side to help put the tent down, scaring the life out of him. Veren giggles at the sight.

“Oi,” A deep voice calls up the tree. Veren glances down, spotting Fenris below her, a bag of supplies on his back and his large great-sword still tucked neatly underneath it. Veren hopes they meet more bad humans, so she can watch with delight when Fenris instinctively tugs his sword from his back and tears their equipment to pieces. “Come down, now. We’re leaving.”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Veren yells.

“Fine, stay there. We’ll be going.” Fenris says, boredom evident in his voice, as he starts to wander off.

Veren watches him go, feeling restless, before making her way down the tree hastily. Fenris looks down as she catches up to him, a small smile tugging at his lips. Veren catches a glance of it. “Shut it, old man.”

“I said nothing,” Fenris responds, but the smile is still there. 

 

Despite what Leliana had told them, they realised that inevitably they would end up having to walk through a village. It was necessary - their supplies were running out quicker than they’d thought, and though they knew it could endanger the mission, they decided to risk it. They wander around the small village, cloaks covering each and every one of them, hoods pulled close. “Stick by my side,” Fenris murmurs to Veren. “And don’t use your magic. It will put us all at risk.”

“Boring,” Veren mutters, but at Fenris’ stern gaze, agrees. 

There’s a few market stalls around, and the group split into groups to remain less suspicious. Hawke wanders around with Fenris and Veren beside him, a dopey smile on his face. “This place kind of reminds me of Lothering.”

“How so?” Fenris asks.

Hawke shrugs. “I don’t know. It just seems - normal, I guess. Haven’t been somewhere normal in a while, you know?”

Fenris snorts. “I suppose not.”

“Can we play hide and seek?” Veren asks, tugging on Fenris’ sleeve.

“Not right now.” Fenris tells her. 

“But I wanna play!”

“Veren, you have to stay by my side. You agreed.”

Veren scowls, eyes wandering over to the children playing by the bridge. “Can I play with them?”

“ _ No, _ Veren,” Fenris sighs, exasperatedly. “And keep your hood down.”

“We’ll play hide and seek when we camp later, Veren. Can you wait ’til then?” Hawke asks.

Veren scowls even harder. “Fine,” she says, sharply, letting go of Fenris’ sleeve. 

 

“Hey guys,” Zevran says, wandering over some time later. “Where is Veren?”

“Hm?” Fenris says, turning to look at where Veren had been standing beside him, and finding her place mysteriously empty. Panic flashes through Fenris’ mind, and he looks around rapidly. “Where did she go?”

“Oh shit,” Hawke mutters. “Let’s split up and find her.  _ Don’t _ draw attention to yourselves.”

Zevran nods. “I’ll tell the others.” As Fenris and Hawke walk away at a speedy pace, Zevran turns to see Kallian, Erröl and Cole standing at a stall, arguing over the price of potatoes. “May I borrow you all a moment?” Zevran says, with a tight smile. The others frown and follow him away from the owner, who curses at them for not buying. 

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Kallian asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Do not panic,” Zevran starts.

“Ohhhh Creators,” Erröl interrupts, face pale. “What’s happened? What’s going on? Who's dead? Please say it's not another Fade thing.”

“Slow down,” Zevran says. “It’s Veren. She’s… Wandered off.”

“That’s  _ worse _ ,” Erröl groans. 

“We must find her, quickly and quietly, before she begins to draw attention. You go that way.” Zevran mutters, signalling with his head, before wandering off in the opposite direction. 

“Shit the bed, this cannot be happening,” Erröl murmurs, turning paler by the second. 

“Relax,” Kallian says. “Nothing bad has happened yet. Come on, let’s see if we can find her.”

 

Fenris feels a sense of panic inside him he has never felt before. He can’t help but be worried, despite knowing the strength the child possesses. He hadn’t noticed how much of a presence she had until she was missing. He darts down the dark alleyways, sticking to the walls, ignoring anyone who looked like they were in the middle of some suspicious deals. Where could she be? Surely she couldn’t have gone far - she hadn’t tried to run away, had she?

Fenris remembers her desire to play hide and seek when they’d entered the village, and quickly looked around for the gaggle of children who had been playing in the square. He finally locates them, but Veren is still nowhere in sight.  _ Bollocks, _ Fenris thinks, wishing he could see the village clearer. An idea strikes him and he looks for the easiest way onto the nearest roof. 

It takes a lot of scrambling and a few bruises, but Fenris manages to climb his way up. He dreads the thought of getting down again, but decides to worry about it later. He crawls to the front of the roof, looking out on the village. He takes his time to look at every single person, determined not to skip over anyone that could be Veren. He huffs in annoyance when he still can’t find her. He leans back, looking out across the houses at his side - and notices her, sitting on the roof of one four houses across. She’s talking to herself, that much he can see - the way her lips move occasionally, her expressing crinkling into a frown for a moment before she speaks once more. 

Fenris wonders what she’s talking about. Presumably she was just talking to herself, as many people did when they were alone. But perhaps that was not the case. She still hasn’t noticed Fenris yet, so he crawls back out of her eye-line, and quietly attempts his jump to the next house. He sticks the landing, and although his feet are throbbing, he continues. House after house, until he sees Veren pull a small knife from her pocket. He stops in his tracks, eyes wide. She glares at it for a moment, before sliding it across her palm. Similar to how Merrill had so many times. She cries out at the pain, dropping the knife and clutching her hand. Fenris watches, waiting for her to perform some sort of magic - something that will confirm his suspicions. Something that tells him its blood magic. 

But Veren just cries, tears falling down her cheeks, hands going up to cover her ears, blood smearing on her face and neck by accident. 

Fenris doesn’t wait a second longer. 

He jumps over to the final house, and Veren looks up at the sound of his arrival. She sniffs, wiping at her eyes. “I found you.” Fenris says, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Veren smiles back, despite herself, and gets to her feet. Fenris kneels down to her level, and wipes the blood from her face. “What happened?” He asks, despite having witnessed it moments ago.

Veren shrugs, pretending as though she wasn't crying moments ago. “Hurt my hand,” she says, holding it out. Blood is still oozing out of it and dripping onto the roof tiles below them. 

“How did you manage that?” Fenris asks, patiently. He pulls a bandage from his bag of supplies, and wraps it around her palm gently. 

“Knife,” Veren admits. “Wanted to see something.”

Fenris gives her a questioning look. “What did you want to see?” His mind starts racing again,  _blood magic_ chanting through the back of his head. 

Veren looks up at him, uncertain. She bites her lip, and finally she answers. “Pain. What it felt like.” 

Fenris feels a little sad at the thought; he wonders if this was because of overhearing their conversation some nights ago. “You shouldn’t harm yourself, Veren.” Fenris says. “Pain will come in many forms - t’is best we do not welcome it.”

Veren nods, a strange expression in place. Before Fenris can place it, she hugs him, small arms wrapping around his neck. He finds himself hugging her back before he can even think about it. He suddenly remembers watching Erröl embracing his Dalish family at their clan site, and wonders if this was how it felt, to be needed. 

He pulls away before long, and holds out his hand as they walk to the back of the roof and Fenris stares down, wondering how on Earth he’s going to get them both down in one piece. 

Veren sniffs a little, holds onto Fenris’ hand firmly, and summons her magic, using her spare hand to pull tiles from the roof, creating a small walkway down to the ground. Fenris would reprimand her for being too obvious if he weren’t so impressed. Despite looking as though they may fall at any moment, he steps forward in trust that they will support him. He is glad to find his trust was well placed, as they swiftly make their way to the ground. Veren swiftly returns the roof tiles to their places, and smiles up at him. Fenris smiles back.

“Let’s go find the others, shall we?”

Veren nods, and Fenris tugs her hood back up. 

 

“You found her!” Zevran murmurs joyfully, as the group watches Fenris and Veren approach hand in hand. Hawke can’t help the smile that presses forward at the sight, the warmth that he feels witnessing it. Fenris scowls, like he can tell what he is thinking, but Hawke knows him well enough to know he doesn’t mean it. Fenris all but refuses to let go of her hand as they make their way through the village, excusing it with ‘we can’t let her get lost again’, but sounding a lot like he just really didn’t want to let go.

“I think I’ve found a solution to one of your problems,” Hawke whispers to Kallian as they finally head out of the village, packed with fresh supplies. 

“Don’t keep it all to yourself, tell me.” Kallian says. 

Hawke points at Fenris and Veren’s intertwined hands ahead of them, and grins at her. She raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to use your words, Hawkey-boy.”

Hawke huffs. “Sure, we still need to find her a place - but now we have a vague idea of who can look after her.”

Kallian blinks at him. “You and Fenris?”

Hawke nods enthusiastically. 

“Wow,” Kallian says. “Well, I gotta admit; if anyone can do it, you two can. But… Doesn’t she still, ya know…” Kallian makes a face. At Hawke’s silence, she continues. “Doesn’t she still dislike you quite a bit?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Hawke says, waving it off. “But I’ll win her round. My piggybacks are  _ legendary _ , once she lets me give her one.” 

“You know, I never thought of Fenris as the father type.” Kallian hums. “But seeing him now, it's hard to imagine he isn’t.”

“ _ Exactly, _ ” Hawke whispers in excitement.

“Oooooh,” Kallian whispers back, getting excited herself. “This is good news!”

Hawke nods again, and they both go back to staring at the two, feeling pleased with themselves.

“What happened to your hand, Veren?” Zevran asks, eyes locking in on the bandage. 

“Hurt it on the roof,” she answers. 

“You probably scraped it on a nail getting up there,” Fenris replies, lying without meaning to. Veren looks up at him, her eyes beaming at the thought of their shared secret. He feels like he should tell them what really happened, but the way Veren was looking at him made him want to protect her. Made him want to keep her safe, and feel safe. 

“I see,” Zevran says. “You should get Erröl to look at it; he might be able to heal it for you.”

Veren shakes her head. “Naw, it’s okay. It’ll heal.”

“Are you sure?” Zevran asks, unsure. Veren nods, and holds Fenris’ hand a little tighter. 

“It’s a good reminder,” she tells him. Zevran nods slowly, uncertain of how to react to her comment.

They continue on their journey that guarantees many nights to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adopted daughter trope and learning to be a dad trope are the only tropes that are important thank you for coming to my tedtalk 
> 
> bleakzeke.tumblr.com x


	7. It's Hard To Hear You Over The Sound Of My Beating Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble is brewing, but only Erröl can see it.

“Stop cheating,” Fenris chastises.

“I forgot the rules!” Veren huffs, throwing her cards down. “This game is stupid. When can we play hide and seek?”

“When you’ve played one of my games first,” Fenris answers, reshuffling the cards. “I’m tired of hide and seek.”

Veren groans, but makes no attempt at arguing. She watches Fenris shuffle the cards, dividing them up into two. “Why do you glow sometimes?”

“My lyrium markings glow when I’m attacking.” Fenris answers, eyes still on the cards.

“What about when you’re asleep?”

Fenris glances up at her. She stares back. He puts his cards down. “If you’re going to ask me questions, I expect some answers in return.”

“Deal,” Veren says, before repeating her question.

Fenris huffs. “Sometimes I have nightmares. Dreams of my former life. Dreams of bad people from my past.” Fenris expects this to be enough of an explanation, but she continues to stare. “My markings flare up when I’m in distress, occasionally. Like a defence mechanism.” 

“Defence mechanism,” Veren repeats.

“My turn,” Fenris says, swiftly. “What was it like, living with the Dalish? You know, the ones you stayed with.”

Veren hums. “It was loud. They were all so bossy. Acted like they knew what was right for me.”

Fenris nods. “I’ve met many Dalish similar.” He levels her with a stare. “And what about us? Do you think we know what is right for you?”

Veren laughs. “Not a chance.” She says, grinning as if even the suggestion was ludicrous.

“Then why do you go along with us?” Fenris asks, eyebrows furrowing. 

Veren shrugs. “I got nothing else to do.” She frowns a second later. “Wait, you’ve had loads of questions! It’s my turn!”

Fenris nods, and waits as she thinks of one. “What happens in your dreams?”

“What?” Fenris asks, caught off guard.

“What happens?” Veren says. “Do you… Remember them? When you wake up?”

Fenris looks away. “Sometimes. Often times they are a blur, a mixture of past memories rolled into one. Sometimes they are my worst fears brought to life. Sometimes I wake up and think he’s there -“ Fenris catches himself before he can continue. He shakes his head, willing the thoughts away. “Let’s move on.”

“Who’s he?” Veren presses.

“It’s my turn,” Fenris responds, ignoring her question entirely. She huffs, but waits for him to ask his question. “What… would you like to do?” Fenris asks, both willing their current conversation into oblivion and hoping to get some proper answers out of her. 

Veren bites her lip. “Well… There’s this place I like to go.” 

“Go on,” Fenris says, when she pauses. Fenris can tell she’s unsure about telling him anything more, but they can’t stop now. He needs to know something,  _ anything _ about her that means this journey, this adventure, could continue. He finds himself forgetting more and more each day about the many people she’s killed, knowing that his hands are far from clean. He cannot help but overlook her insane amount of power in hope of protecting her himself. 

“I used to go there when I was younger,” she continues, quietly. “It was this cave. None of my clan knew about it but me. I used to escape there when they were getting on my nerves.”

“What was it like?”

“It had all these paintings on the walls,” Veren says, smiling. “They’re so beautiful. They glow a bright blue, like your markings. It’s my favourite place.”

“Where is it?” Fenris asks. “Is it where we’re going? The Tirashan?”

Veren nods. “Can we go there?”

“If you want to.” Fenris says. “I’d love to see it.”

Veren beams at him. “You’re gonna love it!”

Fenris chuckles. “I’m sure I will.” 

  
  


They’re three days away from the forest, as far as Erröl can tell. The Nahashin Marshes make themselves well known as they wade through the swamp, Erröl desperately wishing he’d worn boots. The mud from the marsh is thick and heavy, and clings to them all as they make their way through it, some patches deeper than others and sucking them in up to their waists. Veren remains firmly in place on Fenris’ back, watching for anyone who might spring on them while they’re trudging through. 

“I think it’s thinning out other there,” Erröl calls back to them all. “There might even be a dry patch to lay camp for the night.”

“It’s hard to imagine anything’s dry in this place,” Hawke grumbles, but they struggle on, sighing with relief as the mud gets thinner and they finally reach firm, dry land. They’re all exhausted, desperate to sit down and eat some food. The sun has been getting lower and lower, leaving them little time to set up camp before it’s too dark to see. “Go look for some firewood,” Fenris says to Veren, letting her scramble from his back to the nearest tree. She climbs up it with her usual ease, clambering upon the branches and breaking off the weaker ones. He rolls his shoulders once she’s off, looking wearier than the rest of them. 

“Go sit down,” Erröl instructs. “You look knackered.”

Fenris waves him away. “I need to set up our tent first.”

“Nope,” Hawke says, walking past. “It’s my turn. You sit down. You’ve been carrying her for days.”

While Fenris would usually argue, he chooses to take the pleasure he’s been granted and sinks to the ground. He moans in relief as he rubs his aching feet. “Bloody marshes,” he says. 

“You and Veren have quite the bond, eh?” Zevran says, setting up his own tent beside him. “I think she likes you more than me now.”

“Quite the achievement, I’d say,” Fenris replies, closing his eyes. “Not sure many people can say that about me.”

“I’m just happy to see you both happy. It’s sweet, watching the two of you.”

“I can stick my fist into people’s hearts at will, and she can kill twenty men in an instant. We are not ’sweet’.”

“‘We’,” Zevran repeats, grinning when Fenris frowns. “Come on, admit it. You’re both cute.”

“Nor are we  _ cute _ -“

“There he goes again with the we,” Zevran says, sighing with a smile. “Do you think that, when this is all over…”

“Maybe,” Fenris says, before knowing the end of the sentence. Zevran gives him that grin again, because they both know how it was going to end. 

“So you’ve thought about it.”

Fenris huffs. “I’m going to have a nap, now.”

“As you wish.” Zevran replies, but Fenris can still hear that shit-eating grin in his voice. 

 

+++

 

_ You are almost there, child! _

_ You have done well so far, my child.  _

_ Do not waiver from your path. _

Veren grins to herself, as she wanders through the trees. “I’m doing good?”

_ You are. _

“I can’t wait to show Fenris the cave,” Veren says, biting her lip with excitement. 

_ But not the others. Remember this. _

_ Your secret place. No one else’s.  _

_ Do not let them come, or we will punish you. _

“I won’t,” Veren nods. “I know what to do.” 

_ Be wary of the others. They watch your steps like a hawk. _

_ They are blinded by your light, Child. Do not let them see. _

_ Do not disappoint us. _

Veren swallows, “I understand.” She says, clutching her firewood close. She dashes back across the branches to the camp, not noticing Erröl as he stood below her. 

Erröl feels his heart stop at the conversation. Could you even call it a conversation? She was definitely talking to someone. Erröl remembers back to when he’d first met Veren, and Cole’s words echoing her thoughts had stuck in his head; 'The gods must be angry with me. They have not spoken to me in days.’

Was she really talking to them? To the gods? Veren wonders which gods they could be, and sincerely hopes it’s the pantheon gods, as opposed to… “Oh creators,” Erröl mutters, before making his way back to camp. 

“Fenris,” he mutters, “I need to ask you something. Come with me.” Fenris, who had been napping against a tree, opens an eye to look at him. 

“Must I move?” Fenris sighs.

Erröl frowns, but leans in close. “Fine. I need to talk to you. About Veren.”

Fenris opens another eye. “Go on."

“I just caught her talking to herself."

“Oh,” Fenris closes his eyes. “Yes. She does that."

“But - I think she was talking to  _ someone _ ,” Erröl says. “She talked about taking you to see some cave?"

Fenris nods. “It’s her favourite place."

“I think -“ Erröl says, biting his lip. “I think it’s a trap.”

“What?” Fenris says, now alert. “What do you have to base this off of?”

“She was just - replying. She wasn’t having two sides of a conversation, just one - she said ‘I know what to do’, I think - I think she’s going to try something.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Fenris says, sitting up. “I’ve caught her talking to herself before. Plenty of people do it.”

“Fenris, I know you like her, but -“

“You’re not giving me a lot to work with, Erröl.” Fenris frowns. “So we’re supposed to attack her on the basis of you hearing her talk to herself?” 

“I can feel it, Fenris.” Erröl says, worrying his bottom lip. “Something’s going to happen.”

“And what do you propose we do, Inquisitor?” Fenris asks, his words coming out bitterly. “Kill her because you have a bad feeling?”

“I don’t know,” Erröl replies, worriedly. Fenris gives him a look of disgust, shaking his head.

“It’s not enough, Erröl. Now let me nap.” Fenris says, jaw set, as he closes his eyes once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleakzeke.tumblr.com


End file.
